


Marked with black

by musemm



Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Eventual Smut, Love/Hate, M/M, Non-smutty Gunnbones, Post-Season/Series 03, Treasure Island, Unresolved Sexual Tension, or more or less canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musemm/pseuds/musemm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy & Flint's post-season 3 adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to @beatriceHB for helping me with this fic! <3

Music: Muse - The Handler

~~~

 

Memory is a strange thing. Stories, people and places stored in your head; some of them invariably warm your heart, some stab it each time you feel weak enough to let them. Yet there is this sick need to keep carrying the weight of memories: it’s all about reminding yourself who you are, who you were at particular moments of your life, someone else’s life. Some things fade away, and to hell with them; but some things can never be forgotten, so it has to be worth it – sealing them inside your body forever, even if…

“Fuck, it hurts!” Billy hisses through his teeth, exhales sharply and softens the curse with a broad smile.

Jake smirks and hastily withdraws the needle, casually raising an eyebrow. “Warned you,” he almost chants; it’s obviously routine for him.

“Enjoying this, aren’t you,” says Billy with feigned reproach, attempting to smirk back.

“More than you know,” Jake teasingly looks up at him; Billy knows he means well. He decides to distract himself by watching Jake work. Nassau evenings are hot and sultry, and sweat trickles down the man’s tanned hefty neck and forearms. Almost in contrast, he is perfectly delicate in his work; meticulous, like a jeweler. He occasionally frowns in concentration or bares his white teeth framed by a thick beard – red with a dash of grey; oddly enough, it flatters his young face. He squints, his eyes are deep blue, like Billy’s own; like most pirates’ on this island. Their eyes seem to take on the color of the ocean, may it be damned. Jake’s throaty voice pulls Billy out of an encroaching stupor.

“You still sure it’s a proper thing to put on your arm? Your mates normally go with a mermaid or somethin’.”

Billy scoffs, “Well, I guess I’m not the one for the exotic.”

“If you say so. Then again, I’ve never done anything like this before, so tell me, Billy,” Jake elicits another small hiss from him as he carries on, “which one of the two of us knows more about exotic, huh?”

“You saw it, with your own eyes,” Billy’s face goes dark, he doesn’t flinch anymore, as if his body suddenly forgot how to react to pain. “You were there.”

“I was there,” echoes Jake in a low voice. “Everyone was. Never thought anyone would be willing to… mourn him like this, though.”

“We all have our ways…” Billy trails off. “It’s not mourning,” he adds, his voice hard. “Is it done yet? Feels like it’s been hours.”

“Just the final touch, Billy boy,” murmurs Jake. “Here you go.”

Billy breathes a sigh of relief as Jake lets go of him and puts the instruments into a bucket beside him. He leans forward, elbows on knees, and looks at Billy from under his brows with playful concern.

“You alright? Need a drink? Maybe something more comforting?”

Billy rolls his eyes and fails to stop a corner of his mouth from curling up. “Yeah, yeah, like you haven’t had enough.”

"At least let me give you a hug. I hear it's soothing…”

“Shut up,” Billy gives him a grin; Jake reflects it. He backs off and holds a mirror up to Billy’s arm. The grin slowly disappears.

“This is a part of you now.” Jake’s face is serious too.

Billy studies his forearm. There’s a long-haired man hanging from the gallows, done with as much skill as the best artist of Nassau could possess. Not great art, but it looks impressive on his arm - exactly like he pictured it. He doesn’t care about the English, the patrol, he doesn’t even need to hide. It’s _them_ who should be afraid now. He wants everyone to see his mark and know who he is: the true ringleader of the resistance that started with the look on the man’s face – his last look, which was meant for him, for Billy – and the verdict they silently agreed on together. With all the hardships Billy went through, this could be the most painful of his sacrifices, his most hard-won achievement. He thinks he can only hope it will turn out to be the first meaningful one.

“It’s gonna be sore for a couple of days,” says Jake, putting some kind of pungent liquid on Billy’s skin. “You know how to take care of it, don’t you?” He passes the vial with the liquid to Billy.

“Never knew you to be so considerate. Did we get married after we got drunk last week?” Billy knits his eyebrows as if trying to remember.

“You’re too good for me, Bones,” Jake laughs. “Take care.”

“You too, Jake,” Billy stands up and straightens his shoulders. “Thanks,” he gives the man a grateful glance before he leaves.

 

***

 

Twilight is descending on the island, the thick air feels hot on his skin, and Billy thinks that damn, he does need a drink. He immerses himself in a tangle of thoughts as he walks toward the beach. There’s a couple of spots on the eastern coast that are quite safe from Rogers’ men. Every now and then he allows himself to let go just for a couple of hours and have a drink or two with his men. He’s entitled to it, after all. It’s not a habit – Billy is certain he’s in complete control of everything, including his own needs. He does it purely to clear his head, to get rid of the obscure yearnings of his soul; once he lets his worries dissolve in a glass of cheap rum, he becomes impervious to any kind of sentiment, and it feels _good_.

He doesn’t even try to delude himself that he didn’t develop this… not habit – _temporary tradition_ , because he wanted to experience something reminiscent of Flint. Billy almost believes he understands the man better now that he knows the burden of leadership and the satisfaction of bending people to your will. The tide is turning, the air in Nassau is permeated with spite and revolt, and it’s only a matter of time before the war breaks out – their war; the one Flint wanted for so long, and Billy - well, he came to realize it’s what he needs, too. It’s his own design, and he can’t wait for Flint to see what he’s done here – and that this time Billy didn’t do it for him. The new pirate republic is being established, with the king of his own choosing. Once again Billy scoffs to himself when he thinks about how far he’s come. He spent all these years being subservient to Flint and going out of his way to win the man’s respect, when all he had to do was realize that he deserves a life of his own. England made him suffer more than anyone else in the Walrus crew, and he’ll be the one to carry out retribution. It all boils down to revenge – or justice, he can’t really distinguish between the two anymore. He has finally reached the point where he feels strong enough to be threatened by no one. He is more than Flint’s equal now; it's so strange that he doesn’t need to measure himself by what Flint thinks of him. Yet Billy can’t shake off the thought that all of this won’t matter if Flint doesn’t come back. If he doesn’t succeed on the Maroon Island... With all the irreconcilable tensions and incomprehensible awkwardness, Billy can feel there is something else between them that transcends the war, transcends his understanding. It’s exhausting, it’s disruptive for the work he's doing, but he doesn’t even have a name for it. He only knows the unpalatable truth – that this _something_ has to be resolved; it’s inevitable, if he wants to be truly free. Day after day he tries to curb his apprehension – and he fails. He doesn’t have a remedy for it and he hates it, and as he steps on the porch of the tavern, the smell of alcohol hitting his senses, he thanks whatever deity there is that at least he has _this_.

Inside it’s stuffy and noisy, the eyes of those who are still sober enough to discern faces instantly fix on him, and Billy heads right to the bar. Francis the bartender, an elderly man with an eye patch, slides him a glass of rum and he empties it in one swig.

“Can I have the same? And another one for him.”

Billy nearly jumps at the rumbling baritone. He turns his head and sees a tall imposing man with a long beard sitting on a stool next to him. Billy thinks he could swear he wasn’t there a second ago. He recognizes the man right away – he’d bet that anyone who saw him at least once in their life would hardly forget him even if they tried.

“My treat,” the man smiles with his eyes. He seems well disposed, unlike the first (and the last) time Billy saw him. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Edward Teach,” the man says and holds out his hand.

Billy is speechless; he barely manages to lift his own hand and respond to the firm handshake. “I know who you are, Mister Teach. I’m…”

“Billy Bones Manderly,” nods Teach, “the best pirate in the Bahamas,” he adds, as if introducing Billy to an unknown audience.

“I’m flattered, sir,” Billy struggles not to stare. He is drinking with the most infamous captain of the high seas, but it’s not just that. He knows that Teach found out about Vane; he knows that Teach came to Flint’s aid, and now he’s here. It must mean that they succeeded and, if luck is ultimately on his side today, Teach isn’t here to kill him. Deluge of thoughts washes over him, interrupted by another loud remark. Too loud for such a place, perhaps.

“His words, not mine,” Teach looks away. “Charles thought Flint doesn’t deserve you. And he was right about many things.” Teach gives Billy a sad smirk and takes a swig from his glass.

“Is Flint here?” Billy blurts out before he cares to think.

“No.” It seems to Billy that Blackbeard is laughing at him – only with his eyes, again. “We set up camp northern shore of Eleuthera.”

“Quite far off,” notes Billy.

“Just a few hours on a skiff,’ Teach replies. “It’s a perfect place, only known as a settlement of puritan pilgrims,” he grins, “not the first place that comes to mind if you’re looking for pirates, is it? We can build up strength and gather all the intelligence we need.”

Billy nods. “Why didn’t you just send spies? Why did you come here, all by yourself? What are you risking your life for?”

“First of all, Billy, I have brought plenty of spies. Secondly, I think I can handle myself at some bar,” he laughs. “And, finally, I’ve come to get something I need and honor the memory of a certain man,” he looks at the fresh sketch on Billy’s arm, then into his eyes, “who, I suppose, meant something to you as well.”

Billy involuntarily looks away and shakes his head, briefly covering his face with his hand. “We buried him not far from here.” He feels like he’s going to be sick. “I can take you.”

“Please do, Billy,” Teach’s face is unreadable, so much like Flint’s.

Billy braces himself. “What’s the other thing,” he asks, “that you came here for?”

“You,” Blackbeard answers firmly. He smirks at the baffled look on Billy’s face. “You and your spies are good, Billy, but it’s not safe for you here anymore,” he explains. “We can’t afford to lose a valuable asset like yourself. You’ll come with me. We leave at sunrise.”

“How do I know you’re taking me to my crew?” Billy squints.

“Believe it or not, we are on the same side now, Mister Bones,” replies Teach. “But Billy,” he leans forward, “when I said I came to get something I need, I meant _something **I** need_.”

“Beg pardon?” Billy eyes the man with suspicion. There it is, he thinks. He knew it couldn’t be that simple.

Teach leans back again and studies Billy's face. He speaks like a mentor. “When I saw you in Ocracoke, right by his side, I realized why Charles had failed to recruit you. Your loyalty to Flint was unquestionable. It’s like you were his property,” Teach pauses when Billy clenches his hands into fists and shifts toward him. “I’m sorry I put it like this. But he did have complete control over you.”

“So what makes you think something’s changed?” Billy throws him a disdainful scowl.

“You’re not with him, you’re here,” Teach replies simply. “And something tells me it was not his decision.”

Billy feels oddly satisfied with the words – it’s the first time he's heard someone say that he, Billy, actually stood up to Flint, in a way.

“I’m not Flint, so I’ll be straightforward with you. I want you on my crew. Charles told me all about you, and I trust his judgement. I believe you’ve outgrown Flint and his mind games. At the moment, him and I are allies, but as soon as all is settled here, we’ll go our separate ways, and I hope you’ll go with me. A man of your talents will find great life sailing under my banners. Not to mention I don’t kill my own men each time they get out of hand,” Blackbeard gives him a meaningful look.

Billy grits his teeth. His mind is on fire, his heart is thumping, but he musters up his will to appear calm. “I don’t suppose Flint knows about your intentions.”

“Whatever you decide, it won’t break the agreement between him and me. He’ll have no choice but to account for us, Billy.” Teach leans toward him again, his gaze demanding. “This is your chance to start a new life, the life you deserve. I'm only asking you to consider my offer. Or is there a bond between you two that you can't break?”

Much to his own surprise, Billy suddenly wants to pour out everything that’s been on his mind lately, all the things Flint did and didn’t do, he wants to be honest for once – but he can’t even be honest with himself. It dawns on him that he is finally ready to have it out with Flint, he needs to do it right now – but it’s Teach whose eyes bore into him, and Billy lies through his teeth.

“No,” he meets Blackbeard’s gaze, “there isn’t. I’ll think about it.”

Billy watches the look on Teach’s face turn warm. Next thing he knows, he smiles and pats Billy on the shoulder, like a loving father.

“That’s all I needed to hear, boy. Now get ready to be back with your brothers.”

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

Music:  
A Perfect Circle - Passive  
Muse - Stockholm Syndrome

~~~

 

Chased by late afternoon sun, their skiff dashes through shimmering water, and they are almost there – Billy can see the coral shores of Eleuthera. He tightens the knot he checked about ten minutes ago, and ten minutes before that.

“Jesus... Son, will you calm down?” Teach says wearily. “You haven’t sat still for a minute.”

“Sorry,” Billy sits down, looking like a scolded cat. After drinking with Teach at Vane’s grave and listening to stories of his youth during their journey, he can’t say they forged some kind of friendship – but he certainly begins to respect the man. Even trust him, maybe.

“You already know that I understand Charles’ decision, your decision,” Teach nods toward the coast, “so will he, in due time. You shouldn’t be scared, Billy.”

“I’m not scared,” Billy almost interrupts him. It’s not a lie; the only feeling throbbing through him is a morbid impatience.

“Good,” smiles Teach. “Your men will tell you all about our plans, but you should know – we’re going on another trip to Nassau in a couple of days, and this one’s gonna need some serious preparation. That’s why your skills are required here.”

“Well, I figured it wasn’t really about my safety,” Billy scoffs. “You’re planning an attack, already?” He thinks he doesn’t want to talk strategies right now.

“As I said, your crew will tell you all about it. They need your leadership now more than ever.”

 

***

 

When they come ashore, Billy is instantly surrounded by his men. They did miss him and it’s mutual, but to his surprise Billy isn’t that excited. He doesn’t dwell on the odd sensation and gives everyone a hug or a smile, trying to catch sight of the Captain.

“Flint is with Silver and the girl,” explains DeGroot. Billy might have been too obvious. “Another dispute over whose way of getting us killed is more intricate, if you ask me. Get some rest, have a good sleep – you’ll talk to him in the morning. He’s not in the mood anyway.” The old sailor’s face flushes with annoyance, like every other time he talks about Flint or to Flint –  _every fucking time_  – and Billy bites his lip in an attempt not to smile.

They give him a spacious tent; inside it’s cool and almost cozy. The moment Billy’s back touches the soft cushions, he feels drowsy. He decides not to mull over what he’s going to say tomorrow, how Flint’s going to act. It has been a grueling week, and for now he just needs to give his tired body a good night’s sleep. There’s still a slight stingy sensation on his forearm, but the drawing itself placates him, in a weird way. Before he even begins to wonder why that is, he sinks into a deep sleep.

 

***

 

The long-expected morning is murky, the whole camp is enveloped with hazy heat; grey flocky clouds are hanging low, pushing down on the trees. Flint’s tent is open; when Billy steps warily inside, the Captain is standing with his back to him. His black coat flapping out, he looks like a giant raven. Even here he has something resembling a desk; naturally, it’s heaped up with maps and charts of various sorts. Flint half-turns toward Billy and strokes his fiery-red beard, which has grown longer. His eyes not leaving the charts, he takes no notice of his bosun. Billy crosses his arms, as if to appear more impressive, and clears his throat.

“Captain,” he half-states, half-asks in his usual velvety voice.

Flint finally turns to face him fully. His brooding gaze flicks over Billy’s form. He seems impenetrable, as always, equanimity incarnate; yet by the extra glint in his eyes Billy can tell he is  _exceedingly_  displeased. They hold each other’s gaze for a few silent seconds before Flint speaks.

“I see you arrived safe and sound. To be honest, I doubted that our new… ally would see to it.”

“You shouldn’t have. Teach might be the only trustworthy pirate around here,” Billy arches an eyebrow in mocking gratitude, “but I’m glad you were worried about me.”

Flint glowers at him, then forces a smirk. “There are other things I'm more worried about.”

“Ah, right… Like the upcoming visit to Nassau. Did your victory back on that island make you invincible? I can only assume that's why you’re planning to strike Rogers so soon. What’s next week – taking over the Americas?” Billy can’t restrain himself, Flint’s almost indifferent expression is fueling his audacity. No – he doesn’t  _want_  to restrain himself.

For a moment Flint looks dazed, and the warmth of momentary satisfaction trickles down Billy’s spine.

“And what do you know about our plans, Billy? I bet they left it up to me to tell you,” Flint reverts back to his impassive state, taking a step toward him, hands behind his back. “We’re only going to break into one of the warehouses, the one where they keep their guns - their best guns. You must know where it is, how it’s guarded – after all, it was your spies that gave us the information.”

It doesn’t even surprise Billy that Flint has somehow taken control over his spies, as well as everything else; the man’s omnipresence and his knack for winning people over are beyond Billy's understanding.

“If you know how well these guns are guarded, if you know how heavy and valuable they are, you must realize it’s impossible to move them off the island,” protests Billy, nervously gesticulating.

“We don’t have to move them off the island,” Flint takes one more step and fixes his eyes on Billy’s, as if to pacify him. “Just far enough to bide our time before the final attack. Once we get the guns – with our fleet, with the army we have now – then yes, we will be invincible.”

Billy laughs, “You really think this is gonna work? Even if by some miracle we manage to steal the guns, then what – Guthrie and Rogers will just let us set up camp right under their noses?” He turns away from Flint and takes a deep breath. “And Teach supports this... idea?”

“Teach was the one to propose it in the first place,” Flint replies. “He has a special mission there. I assume you should ask him yourself – since you’re such good friends,” there is spite in his voice; Billy can feel his burning glare on his back.

“I will,” Billy turns around to meet Flint’s eyes. “I hear he actually listens to his men.”

Flint scoffs, “You consider yourself one of his men now, huh?”

“He wants me to be one,” Billy crosses his arms again, almost beaming with triumph at the look on Flint’s face. “Teach asked me to join his crew after we’re done here. He understands that everything I’ve done was for the good of our people.”

“Really?” Flint begins to seethe with anger. There it is, his true face that Billy longed to see.

“I know you think there was another way,” now it’s Billy’s turn to take a step forward; he doesn’t want to waste any more time, “but there wasn’t. Vane was the sacrifice this war demanded, and he was the first to realize that.”

“Sacrifice?” Flint snaps, his face distorted with fury. “Don’t you think we sacrificed enough, Billy!? Fuck!” he spits, turning away. “I knew I'd entrusted you with too much responsibility. You think you can play God now?”

The last words arouse Billy’s rage at once, he can feel it burn in his brain.

“Did you really just say that? You?” he clenches his fists as he advances on Flint, who turns and frowns at Billy, bewildered. “With all the blood  _you_ have spilled," Billy entraps him, forcing him to lean back against the desk. Flint gapes at him, Billy sees a wild spark in his eyes that shouldn’t be there, disdain mingled with twisted excitement. It only provokes him to push further. He leans down to the side of Flint’s face and whispers through his teeth, “I can fucking smell it on you.”

Flint is breathing hard, his mouth contorted in a wicked grin, and he doesn’t dodge away. Billy’s heart is thumping; he takes a step back.

“Ever since I became a pirate, I've been trying to protect our kind at all costs,” Billy forces his pulse back down, “when all  _you_  do is wreck everything you touch.”

Flint winces and stands straight; Billy knows he hit a raw nerve.

“You think you’re so much better? That Teach is better? He must’ve told you some stories of his past glory, and now you think he's the king of the seas? What did he entice you with? All he has to offer is his whores.”

Billy gives him a derisive grin, “You’re so angry because you don’t have even one?”

Flint’s face goes white, he tightens his lips, and next thing Billy knows, Flint slaps him in the face with an open hand. Hard.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you shit!” Flint grits through his teeth. “I’m still your Captain!”

Billy raises his head, his left cheek red. It's not the slap itself that infuriates him - it's the thought that even in this confrontation Flint treats him like a boy, not a man. He forces a malicious smile, “Yet you can’t even hit me properly.”

Flint scoffs, “I think you and I are above using our fists against each other.”

For reasons unknown to him, Billy reaches his boiling point. He raises his hand and punches Flint in the face. Flint grunts in pain and surprise; he staggers but manages to stay on his feet. Billy didn't put all his strength into the blow - again, he's not sure why. He leans forward and says in a low whisper, "I don't." 

He storms out of the tent, and Flint follows him with his eyes.

 

***

 

“Alright.”

Blackbeard turns around on hearing Billy’s voice. The bosun is standing in the doorway of the hut, panting, his face flushed.

“Alright what?” Teach’s look is full of concern. "Billy, what happened?”

“I’ll help your crew get ready for the fight. And I’ll join you, if we survive this insanity,” Billy still can’t catch his breath, his face exudes resolve.

“You will?” Teach replies doubtingly, as though awaiting an explanation.

“But you’ll have to tell me all about your “mission” in Nassau. You’ll have to tell me everything, if you want me on your crew this much.”

“Had a falling out with Flint, huh?” Teach raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want you to base your decision on a small fight, son. It's a big decision.”

“It was a big fight,” Billy smiles bitterly. “I’m confident about this, or I wouldn’t have come here.”

Teach makes a sound of content. “Well, then, I’m happy to hear that. I’ll make sure you won’t regret it, Mister Bones,” he smiles and offers Billy a handshake. “As for the mission – it’s simple. What do you think we could do to improve our chances in this war and at the same time make them pay for Charles’ death?”

“Charles’ execution was the work of Guthrie,” answers Billy. Then it dawns on him. He knits his eyebrows, “You’re going to…”

“Kill her,” Teach spits out.

"And how will you manage that?“

"Let me worry about it. I know her mind. You think Rogers is in charge? It's her. Getting rid of her means cutting off the head of the monster." Teach shakes his head. "I let him be lured into her web back then, and look where it got him. I'll tell you what, Billy - stay away from women and their insidious ways. All they do is mess with your head and get you in trouble. Got it?"

"Yeah," Billy can't help a smirk.

"Good," Blackbeard smirks back. "Now your concern is to help our people prepare. Get them to gather all the necessary supplies, make sure they are in fighting shape. Flint told you what we're gonna do, didn't he?"

"In a nutshell," Billy doesn't answer right away. "Don't worry, I'm capable of getting a crew ready for a fight."

"I have no doubts about that." Teach pauses. "What happened between you two anyway?"

"Whatever happened, it was unavoidable," Billy tilts his head down. "Should've happened a long time ago."

"Well, I don't want to pry. Just know that you can talk to me about whatever troubles you, alright?"

Billy nods.

"Now what is the best way to take your mind off things?" asks Teach in a cheerful voice.

"To have a good fight?" smiles Billy.

"Go on then," Teach pats him on the shoulder, "warm our boys up a little."

 

***

 

In the afternoon the heat subsides and it's getting windy, leaden clouds are threatening to burst with heavy rain. Even so, it turns out to be a good day for such strenuous work. Billy discovers that some of the Maroons, despite their strength and heavy build, are poor fighters, and Teach's men are exceptionally bad at following orders from anyone besides their Captain. It's been days since Billy engaged in intense physical activity, and he realizes how much he's missed the sensations; the way muscles flex under his clothes, aching pleasantly; his body is glowing, and nothing seems to torment his weary soul. But this time something's different. There is lingering tension in his body he's desperate to get rid of, but nothing helps. His altercation with Flint should have done something to relieve the agony of his mind, but thinking about it only magnifies the damned tension against Billy's will. When he tries to cool himself down by washing his face with cold water from a huge barrel - probably for the hundredth time today - he hears someone say that a few of his men have arrived from Nassau. He runs to the beach.

All the men are ashore, and he immediately spots Ben among them; he greets other men, smiling, and helps them drag the boat onto the shore. Billy watches him. It has never ceased to amaze him how a man who's been through such ordeals could be so good-hearted. Billy knows the same can't be said about him. He's done things he isn't proud of - monstrous, despicable things; he hasn't done anything truly kind since he last saw his parents. That's why he is drawn to Ben - he is an illusion of something good in Billy's life. He knows Ben's feelings for him go beyond friendship and slight fondness, although he's done nothing to deserve them. Presently Billy sees Flint come out on the beach, and his heartbeat quickens. The Captain approaches Ben and says something to him; it triggers a strange wave of indignation in Billy, which surges up inside him as he heads toward them.

"Can I have a word, Ben?" he interrupts without hesitation. Gunn's face lights up; conversely, Flint throws him a deliberately contemptuous glance and steps aside. Before he thinks better of it, Billy grabs Ben by his arm, pulls him toward a nearby barn and drags him inside.

“Billy?” Ben stares at him with a puzzled expression. Billy’s blood is boiling; he pushes him up against the wall. He presses his body into Ben’s, grips his jaw and envelops his lips in a wet kiss. The boy whimpers into his mouth, and he can’t tell whether it’s a sound of protest or pleasure. When he lets go of him, he meets Ben’s eyes, unrealistically blue and innocent. He suddenly feels a flash of guilt spear through him. What the hell is he doing?

"I can't say I haven't wanted that since we met," mutters Ben, "but Billy, you're not yourself. Did something happen?"

Billy feels a flow of tenderness cool his arousal. He swipes his thumb on Ben's cheek with a gentle smile. "Nothing happened. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," there's a pleading note in his voice. "If there's anything I can do for you, I'll be happy to."

Billy studies his face, and a thought sears through him. "Will you be my spy?' He blurts out.

Ben scoffs and raises his eyebrows, "I _am_ your spy Billy, don't you remember?"

"No," Billy grasps him by the shoulders and looks straight into his eyes. "I'm gonna be spending most of my time with Blackbeard's crew - I'll explain later," he gestures at Ben not to interrupt. "I know Silver's plotting something, and the legend we conjured up might have made it easier for him. I need you to keep an eye on him. And on Flint."

"Flint? Is he dangerous too?"

"He's always dangerous, Ben," Billy sneers, "but now he needs... support, with what we're up against. Will you let me know if something goes wrong on the Walrus?"

"You and your mysterious schemes, Billy Bones. You're so much like Flint," Ben sighs. "Fine. I'll do what you ask. But you'll owe me an explanation."

"Of course," Billy reassures him with a flirtatious smile. He knows how to charm people into doing what he wants - so much like Flint.

 

***

 

Evening gloom covers the island, and the crews begin to retire to their tents. A single rumble of thunder pierces the air, and in a second the sky explodes with warm rain. Billy is with a couple of other men in the hut that they've made their tavern here. He finishes his glass in one gulp and decides it's time to call it a day. He'd had a bit too much and everything had started to blur even before the rain came pouring down. He'd better make it back to his tent while he still can.

When he staggers inside the tent, he is soaking wet. He drags off his shirt with a grunt of disgust. Alcohol insistently throbs in his temples - alcohol and desperation. He tried everything today, but even rain can't wash away the fierce heat rising within him.

"Fuck!" he barks and smashes his fists into the stand, knocking over the lantern. It falls down behind him and as he turns around, he realizes he is not alone. Billy's first instinct is to draw his pistol and take aim at the obscure figure on the floor. The figure struggles to his feet, and the dim light of the lantern reveals his face.

Flint.

Billy can feel his insides churn. Clenching his teeth, he pulls back the hammer and hisses, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

 ~~~


	3. Chapter 3

Music:

Radiohead - Lucky

Imagine Dragons - Bleeding Out

Ocean Jet - Ghost

~~~

 

The rain is lashing his tent, a taunting accompaniment to the blood pumping deafeningly in his head. Billy can barely hold the pistol, feeling like he is about to explode. Flint doesn’t say a word, doesn’t take his gaze off him – dark and hypnotizing. Billy squeezes his eyes shut for a brief second, as if trying to chase away an illusion, and presses the muzzle against Flint’s chest.

“I said what are you doing here?” Billy’s voice rises to a growl. The thought flashes through his mind that right now Flint looks unbearably defenseless without his coat on.

Flint bares his teeth and leans against the muzzle, raising his chin. His green eyes are gleaming uncannily. “Are you gonna keep pointing this thing at me,” he slurs, ”or are you gonna shoot?”

Billy’s hand starts to tremble; he can’t let Flint see it, so he grits his teeth and uncocks the hammer.

“You’re shitfaced.” He knows it sounds too much like an excuse.

“Oh, and you’re stone cold sober,” Flint takes an unsteady step toward him as Billy lowers the pistol. “When did you start drinking?”

“When you weren’t paying attention,” Billy forces insolence into his voice but steps backwards all the same. He can’t let go of the pistol; he can’t raise it again either.

“A lot seems to have happened when I was away,” Flint continues his advance, his lips curling into a devilish smile. “Sorry – “when I wasn’t paying attention”. You’ve gathered quite a following here. Lots of admirers too, I bet. Like that boy of yours. Gunn, is it?”

Flint studies Billy’s face with hooded eyes. He gets so close that Billy has nowhere to retreat and is forced to sit down on the edge of the stand. Their faces almost on the same level now, he can hear Flint’s heavy breathing. Both their scents blend into one intoxicating vapor, and Billy’s breath hitches in his throat. The pistol falls out of his hand when the Captain stands between his thighs. Flint watches a raindrop trickle down Billy’s neck, across the muscles of his chest and stomach – all the way down to his belt. Billy follows his eyes and props himself up on his arms, clutching at the edge of the stand. Flint raises his hand and lightly touches Billy’s forearm with his fingertips.

“And this,” he traces his fingers along the black lines, almost entranced. The skin there is still somewhat sore, and Billy bites his lip. “Does it hurt?” Flint’s voice is deep and raw.

“No,” Billy barely manages to squeeze out the word.

Flint leers at him with a spine-tingling smile, then lowers his head and brushes the tip of his nose up along Billy’s throat, inhaling slowly. Billy gasps but doesn’t stir, he is frozen in place, and the only movement he is capable of is digging his fingernails deeper into the wood. The Captain’s hand leaves Billy’s forearm and slides up to the side of his neck. Flint purrs languorously into his ear, like a sleepy wild cat, “Why do you always lie, Billy?”

“Stop,” Billy begs in a husky whisper. He’s capitulating but what does it matter – he’s going to black out at any second, one way or another.

“Stop what?” Flint whispers back, as though mocking him.

Billy frantically grips the front of Flint’s shirt and yanks him up, their noses almost touching, when a shout from outside his tent breaks their rum-soaked interaction.

“Billy, you asleep? Help me out, will ya?”

It’s Dooley. Inwardly, Billy rains down the worst swear words he knows on him, somehow thanking heaven at the same time. Billy roughly pushes Flint back and rushes out of the tent.

“What the fuck do you want?” He bellows.

Dooley stares at him with a startled expression and drops an unconscious man he was holding by the underarms on the ground.

“Sam drank himself into oblivion,” he explains cautiously. “His tent is right over there, so… Can you help me drag him inside?”

“Oh fuck,” Billy sighs, “Fine. Come on.”

When Billy comes back, he expects Flint to be long gone, but he just can’t get away that easily. Billy groans at the sight of the Captain sprawled across the cushions, sleeping soundly. In _his_ tent. Billy tiredly rubs his face. He is too worn out and drunk to come up with any solution, so he flops down beside Flint and passes out.

 

***

 

When Billy wakes up – with a harsh hangover – it’s like Flint was never there. For a moment he almost believes it was a nightmare, but it all comes back to him once he spots the lantern, still lying in the sand.

They avoid each other until the departure for New Providence. It’s easy; Billy has plenty of convincing reasons to spend more time with Blackbeard’s men and less with his crew. He keeps his mind on the job and forbids himself to think about what transpired in the tent that night, whatever it was. Thank God he has superhuman self-control.

Finally, everything is set and ready. Billy helps the men load the last of the supplies onto the boats.

Flint is watching his bosun from a distance, when he hears lopsided steps on the sand behind him. He slightly turns his head and acknowledges Silver with a nod.

“You don’t believe he’ll join him, do you?” asks the quartermaster, his expression both sarcastic and thoughtful.

Flint glances at him with surprise, then collects himself and replies, trying to sound as indifferent as possible, “What are you talking about?”

“Did you really think I didn’t know that Teach wants him on his crew?” Silver gives him a reproachful look.

Flint snorts, “Not for a second.”

They both watch Billy for about a minute. The bosun exchanges a few words with everyone who gets into the boats, cheering them up, his composure spreading through them.

“He’s a natural,” notes the quartermaster with a nearly affectionate smile.

“That’s what Gates used to say,” grimly responds Flint. Silver looks at him, and Flint sees a shadow of something that he thinks he always mistook for compassion. “When you said Billy didn’t give a shit if I died,” he says after a long pause, “did you…” He trails off, fumbling for words.

“You want to know if it’s true.” Silver fixes his eyes on him.

“Yes,” Flint admits.

“What difference does it make?” shrugs the quartermaster. “I needed you to save us all, including yourself. The only leverage I had at the moment was Billy.”

Flint stares at him, confounded. “Are you saying you used him to get me to do what you wanted?”

“No, Captain. I’m saying I used him to get you to do what _we all_ wanted. Look around. Everything worked out perfectly, all things considered,” he flashes a complacent smirk. “Let’s just say I’d suspected something long before you confided in me about Thomas.”

Flint shoots him an exasperated glare. He abruptly turns away, struggling to suppress his outrage.

“You’ll take the men to the eastern coast of New Providence, the place we agreed on. You’ll be looking over the camp until we bring the guns.”

“What? You know I can help…”

“I don’t think _you_ will be of much help during the attack, Mister Silver,” objects Flint in a hard voice as he turns to face his quartermaster again.

“James,” Silver scowls at him.

“Captain,” corrects Flint. “It’s an order. And take Gunn with you.”

Silver opens his mouth to respond, but then shakes his head and limps away.

 

***

 

Once they disembark from the boats, Flint and Teach disperse their men in different directions. In the dead of night, the pirates easily scatter across the island, unseen and intangible, like ghosts. Billy is gathering his group when Teach emerges from the darkness, Flint right behind him, both armed to the teeth. In their heavy apparel they look like undead beasts designed for battle. Billy walks up to them, his muscled shoulders straight, eyes radiating resolve. He towers over them both; he is no less intimidating.

“I’ll go first, with my men. We’ll deal with _her,_ ” Teach addresses Flint and Billy, “you two can lead your men to the guns.”

“ _You and I_ are supposed to lead the men. _Then_ you take care of her,” says Flint.

“I don’t have that much time. My men and I need to act quickly. Now listen, I don’t care what’s going on between you two,” Billy and Flint glance at each other simultaneously, and Billy feels a twinge of embarrassment. “We have no choice but to succeed, so watch each other’s back. Understood?”

“Since when do you give me orders?” snaps Flint.

Billy tilts his head and briefly runs his fingers through his hair to hide a smile. The shadows obscure Blackbeard’s features, but Billy is sure he rolls his eyes.

“Just get it done,” he sighs. “Promise me you’ll get it done, Billy.” He cocks his head toward the bosun. Flint frowns.   

“I promise,” Billy assures him.

It adds to Billy’s excitement that Teach singles him out like this, in front of Flint. He used to feel remorse for being strangely exhilarated before fights, which he had perceived merely as acts of necessary violence. But as time went by, he started to think of them as rites, sacred rather than barbaric. It became less and less nauseating to wash war paint mingled with someone else’s blood off his body, and eventually Billy came to see himself as a warrior who brings justice to the New World by executing its enemies and consuming their power, like wizards from old stories.

When they reach Nassau, it’s unnaturally hot, even for a Caribbean night. Fireflies hover languidly in the still air and stars sparkle like giant gems, making the town look surreal. They have to move more carefully now that they are no longer surrounded by darkness, and they sneak smoothly between houses, like big cats on the hunt. Billy is right beside Flint: he doesn’t want to let him out of sight, but mostly he doesn’t want him to take the lead. They get close to the warehouses, and Flint signals the men to stop.

“I’ll check if it’s safe,” Billy whispers at him and dashes forward, but Flint seizes him by the arm, pulling him back.

“No,” Flint locks eyes with him, and Billy can’t help but stay put, “we send the vanguard.”

Before Billy makes an attempt to disagree, Flint gives a sign to three of the men, and as they creep toward the back entrance of the nearest warehouse, Billy senses that something is off. There is something in the air, barely perceptible, but he can smell it.

“It’s too quiet,” he thinks out loud, and the next second the bloodcurdling silence is broken by a thunder of gunshots.

“It’s an ambush!” Someone shouts as they all charge toward the noise.

Billy catches a glimpse of the three men lying motionless on the ground before the English swarm them. Everything gets bloody in a blink of an eye, gunshots and sounds of blades slashing into flesh drown out harrowing groans and shouts, and Billy goes berserk, like a werewolf. He grabs one of his fallen brothers’ axe and relentlessly crushes the soldiers one by one, making his way to the target and clearing the path for his men.

Soon Billy realizes they are outnumbered and don’t stand a chance against Rogers’ men; no matter how extraordinary a fighter he is, he can’t get the other pirates out of here alive. Somehow the English knew they’d be here, and they prepared. Someone warned them. He thinks it can’t be over now. They can’t all die here, like animals, trapped and betrayed. Flint can’t die… Billy snaps out of his daze, looks around and spots Flint. The Captain is fighting off three soldiers at once and Billy runs up to him just in time. He smashes one of the men in the head with his axe and knocks another one down in one blow with his fist.

“Duck,” Flint snarls, and as soon as Billy lowers his head, Flint draws his pistol and shoots a soldier behind him.

Billy straightens up and looks at the bodies, stunned, then back at Flint. They gaze at each other for a few seconds that seem hours to Billy, standing still in the middle of the massacre. When it hits Billy how wrong it is, a large group of their men arrive on horses, and suddenly the situation is reversed. With the new force, they overpower Roger’s men within minutes and get hold of the guns. Billy helps load them into carriages, at the same time fighting back the rest of the soldiers, when he receives a heavy blow on the forehead and passes out before he realizes what happened.

 

***

 

It's almost sunrise when they reach their camp, hidden in a thick grove near the eastern shore of New Providence. Flint is one of the last to arrive. He dismounts his horse and helps two of his men carry Billy, who has started to regain consciousness, to the nearest tent.

“What happened?” Ben Gunn is already there, his face exudes concern.

Flint grunts with annoyance. He's not at his best right now: exhausted, covered in dirt, his weary face smeared with blood - someone else's, at least.

"Rogers' men happened. Take care of his wound," he nods at Billy, and Ben helplessly gawks at the bosun’s barely moving form. “Quickly!"

Ben hurries to help the men drag Billy inside the tent, and as they take him away, Flint sees Silver, approaching him as fast as his body allows him.

"What the fuck happened there?" hisses the quartermaster when he gets close enough not to be heard by others. "They tell me you sent our men straight into the ambush? What is this – another one of your strategic experiments that get our man butchered? You can't get away with this one, Flint!"

The Captain scoffs at Silver addressing him like this for the first time. It's not the respectful "Captain" or the familiar and nearly friendly "James". It's the name of the evil creature he created, the name he hates and everyone else fears so much.

"Despite what you might think, I'm not accountable to you," Flint spits, baring his teeth. "A decision had to be made, and I made it. The guns are here. You should be grateful that I let you get pissed here on the beach when we did all the work."

Silver glares at him questioningly, as if refusing to accept what he just heard and offering Flint a chance to take it back. The Captain unwaveringly meets his eyes, refusing to take that chance.

"All of you would have been dead if I hadn't sent more men to your aid," Silver shouts, " _You_ should be grateful to _me_ that you're alive. Perhaps, not for much longer," he throws Flint a scornful look, "if I go to the men and tell them exactly how the attack went. How you let their brothers die, yet again."

Flint grins and replies in the most nonchalant manner, "I told you once, your threats don't scare me. Go to the men. Maybe you'll tell them how you stole their gold, too. Would be one hell of a story."

"They'd forgive me," Silver gives him a self-contented smile. "You, on the other hand, are about to exhaust your power over them. You'd better not get any more of our men killed, Captain,” he emphasizes the title mockingly, "or I’ll make you regret it."

"No doubt you will," Flint grumbles as he turns away from the quartermaster, concluding their conversation.

 

***

 

"Damn," Billy grunts as Ben disinfects the deep scratch on his forehead. After what happened, he feels guilty and vulnerable, sitting before Ben and receiving his care, like a child.

"Sorry," Ben frowns apologetically. "I still can't believe you got those guns. Thank God you're alive."

"Unlike tens of our brothers, Ben," Billy says gloomily.

"It's the price we have to pay," Ben shakes his head, "you said it yourself. You did everything you could, Billy," he puts away the vial of alcohol. "From what I heard, our men wouldn't have survived if it weren't for you."

He cups Billy's face in his hands, locking eyes with him. Billy’s eyes flick to his mouth, and Ben slowly leans forward to capture Billy's lips with his own, ever so gently. Presently, Flint appears in the entrance of the tent, Ben abruptly pulls away, and Billy catches an expression on Flint's face he has never seen. In combination with the brief kiss he has just been given, it sends a wave of alarmingly pleasant heat down his guts.

"Get out!" Flint barks, looking down. It's clear to everyone who the order is addressed to.

"Captain," Billy says, even though he knows how useless his objection is.

"Now," Flint's eyes are fixed on the same spot on the sand. Ben shoots Billy a look full of what Billy could call sympathy and leaves.

"He was helping me," Billy almost shouts at Flint.

"I can tell," Flint comes up to Billy and lifts his chin with his hand, angling him so that he could examine his scratch. Billy's breath catches up in his throat at the unexpected gesture; he averts his eyes but allows Flint to hold him and put some strangely-colored ointment on the wound. As if by magic, it stops hurting.

"You knew it was an ambush. And you still sent them out there to die," Billy's voice is soft; it's not how you’re supposed to accuse someone of a murder, he thinks, but he almost reaches forward when Flint touches his forehead with his fingers again, to spread the ointment.

"And I would’ve sent a hundred more," Flint's tone is so casual that Billy stares at him with wide eyes. "But not you."

Billy bats Flint's hand away, furious. "Don't make this about me! Like you wouldn't kill me along with anyone else if it helped you achieve your end!"

"I didn't do it during that storm, did I?" Billy winces, and a knowing expression creeps up on Flint's face. "I saw you up on the mast. You knew why."

"No," Billy clenches his teeth, "You don't get to say this because you saw me and Ben. Oh, I forgot," he squints and taps his temple with his index finger, pretending to suddenly remember something, "it bothers you that he likes me. Your little performance in the tent? Is it how you intend to make me believe that you care about me? So that I return to the crew and keep protecting you? Well, it's not gonna work, because..."

Flint interrupts him by grabbing the back of his neck and pressing his mouth to Billy's. Billy can't move, his head goes blank, and he ends the sentence with nothing but a stifled moan. Flint breaks the kiss almost at once, and Billy forces his eyes open a little later than he should.

"You already believe it," Flint's voice is hoarse and imperious, his expression impossibly sensuous. He slips his hand away from Billy's neck and strides out of the tent without another word.

~~~


	4. Chapter 4

Music:

Lana Del Rey - Freak

 ~~~

 

Blackbeard arrives hours later, just when a thought creeps into everyone’s mind that he is about to suffer the same fate as the one he is so desperate to avenge. His appearance is darker than usual, his men’s faces are surly, and the camp is instantly pervaded by apprehension. Instead of having a rest, Teach summons Flint and Billy.

“Would you be so kind as to tell us what the fuck happened? Did you get to her?” asks Flint with an irritated grimace after a minute of watching Teach pace nervously back and forth across the hut. Billy comes in and reflexively darts his eyes to Flint, then fixes his attention on Blackbeard; he stays at the entrance, keeping his distance, and Flint allows himself a subtle smirk.

“We didn’t get to her,” Teach finally replies, still not making any eye contact with his allies. “She’s not the most immediate problem right now. More English ships are coming. We have four days, maybe five.”

“How _many_ ships?” Flint says sharply. A flicker of something that everyone else would call dismay crosses his features, but Billy knows it’s a brief manifestation of the hatred that rages within the man.

“Shouldn’t be more than ten,” Teach answers quietly. Flint shakes his head, Billy crosses his arms on his chest, both their expressions perplexed, and Teach hastily adds, “I sent word to Rackham and Bonny, they should be here with the rest of our fleet any day now.”

“You mean we could take them?” Billy asks gingerly.

“We have the guns – thanks to you,” Blackbeard throws them both a meaningful glance, “we’ll have the ships – yes, we can take them. Also, my men learned there’s something of value on one of the ships. Something we can use to our advantage,” he pauses.

“What’s that?” Flint bellows impatiently.

“We don’t know exactly,” Teach bellows back, then continues in a softer voice, “I left spies in Nassau to find out. We only know there are papers for Rogers and Guthrie. We need to get hold of them first.”

“How do we do that?” Flint strokes his beard pensively, as if it is bound to help him think up the plan.

“Let my spies bring news, then we’ll decide on who’s gonna do it and how. In the meantime, we need to sail back to Eleuthera to get the rest of our men. We’d better leave now.”

“The two of us can go,” says Flint, and Billy swallows tensely as the Captain directs his gaze at him, “with a few of our men. You should get some rest and wait for your spies,” Flint’s eyes drift back to Blackbeard.

“It makes sense,” Teach nods after a few seconds of doubt, his eyes silently asking Billy if he agrees.

“We’ll be back in two days,” Billy assures him.

“Good. Tell your crew you’re leaving right away. My men will help you with the skiffs,” he walks up to Billy and pats him on the shoulder, then addresses Flint, “Oh, and… Mister Silver has to stay, obviously.”

‘Why’s that?” Flint straightens into a military posture, hands behind his back, his chin raised, and Billy can’t help but flick his eyes over his Captain’s erect form.

“I will need someone to hold the crews together while you’re gone. Your quartermaster is the only one among us who can manage it,” explains Teach, forcing a friendly smile.

 “I suppose he can stay,” Flint responds gruffly as he saunters out of the hut.

Billy exchanges barely perceptible nods with Blackbeard and as leaves the hut, he bumps right into Ben.

“Billy,” the boy pants, “I need to tell you something.”

Ben doesn’t notice Flint, who turns around at the noise, and Billy doesn’t think when he holds Flint’s gaze, putting his arm around Ben’s shoulders before leading him away.

“You asked me to keep an eye on Mister Silver,” Ben lowers his voice.

“Yeah,” Billy’s expression goes from playful to worried. “Shit, it’s about last night, isn’t it?”

Ben nods, “Everyone knows Flint risked our men’s lives, and Silver is not so eager to take the Captain’s side this time. You should know, Billy,” he hesitates for a short while, “if our Captain doesn’t put it right somehow, it’s likely that he will face another mutiny.”

“Now? You think they could do it _now_?”

“Some of them are pretty distraught about what happened,” Ben leans closer, his voice drops to a whisper. “And between you and me, most of them are resistant to common sense. Besides, they are so fed up with Flint’s disregard for his men’s safety that they care more about him getting what he deserves than winning the war.”           

“Fuck,” Billy sighs. “I’m going to Eleuthera with Flint. We’ll be back with our men in a couple of days. I’ll figure something out by then. Meanwhile, do everything you can to stall them. Can you do that, Ben?”

“I’ll try my best,” Ben’s confused look contradicts his promise and Billy can see that he is waiting for certain encouragement, but he chooses to ignore it, not even trying to justify himself. He only squeezes Ben’s shoulder in appreciation and heads for the beach.

 

***

 

“You need to focus on your job, Billy,” grumbles Teach, “Flint’s crew can’t be that thick. They’re not going to mutiny with what we all have ahead of us.”

“Flint can’t be compromised, not now,” Billy stops loading the skiff and wipes the sweat from his forehead. “And they’re still _my_ crew too.”

“Maybe it should stay that way,” says Teach in a hard voice, taking a commanding pose. Billy frowns as he meets his eyes. “I’m not gonna ask why you’re worried about Flint’s safety more than anything else, even though lately I haven’t seen you say a word to him. You don’t have to tell me why you’re sailing to Eleuthera with him, yet you’re taking separate skiffs,” Blackbeard’s gaze softens and Billy looks down, shifting from one foot to another. “I’ll help you keep your men in line, and I only ask one thing in return,” Teach comes closer, prompting Billy to look him in the eye. “You have to decide, once and for all, where your loyalties lie.”

 

***

 

Billy strolls out onto the beach and stretches his muscles. He can’t remember the last time he slept so well, and in spite of everything that happened in the last few days, he feels a surge of strange energy wash over him. He has ordered the men to gather the rest of the supplies before they sail back to New Providence. They’ll sacrifice more lives there, he knows it full well, but for now he can pretend that he doesn’t. Just for one day – which is still a rare luxury. It’s a tranquil early morning, clear blue water is gleaming under the rising sun; Billy peels off his shirt and takes a deep breath of salty ocean air, closing his eyes and letting the sunlight tenderly caress his body.

“Great day for a swim too.”

Billy flinches at his Captain’s voice and opens his eyes. Flint pads across the sand toward him – panting, shirtless, water glistening all over his freckled skin. He puts on his shirt as he walks past his bosun without even looking at him, and Billy feels a slight sting of frustration. Without thinking, he shoots out his hand and grabs Flint by the wrist, pulling him back. Flint gazes inquiringly into his eyes, and Billy’s heart leaps up; he doesn’t take his hand away.

“Are you aware that your crew is about to mutiny?” Billy glares at him.

“ _My crew_ shouldn’t concern you, Mister Bones,” Flint’s face is inscrutable as ever, but there is a mischievous glitter dancing in his eyes.

“I warned you there’d be consequences,” Billy continues. “You should be working out a plan how to stop your men from killing you instead of taking a swim.”

“I thought I’d leave it to you,” Flint doesn’t miss a beat. “I overheard your conversation with Teach, Billy. So why don’t we quit playing this game.”

Billy scoffs and finally lets go of Flint’s hand.

“It’s about time we cleared the air, don’t you think? Let’s have a talk,” Flint’s voice becomes gentle, spellbinding, and Billy gives in to it.

“Not here,” he rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore a feeble voice in his head telling him to shut up and walk away – right now, Billy.

“There’s a place not far from here,” says Flint as he turns toward the camp. “We can go just before sundown, after we’ve gotten everything ready.”

Billy nods, “Meet me at the armory.” Words seem to come out against his will, damn it. Flint gives him a slightly wry smile and heads back to the camp.

“What the fuck are you doing…” Billy whispers to himself as he watches him.

 

***

 

A soft breeze is blowing and lazy diluted sunlight is filling the camp when they simultaneously approach the hut that the men have made their armory. Flint is leading two horses, and Billy gives him a questioning look.

“Is it that far?” he asks.

“It’s an hour walk from here,” Flint hands him the reins, “I don’t want to waste time. Do you?”

“Not today,” Billy replies as he gets on his horse. Flint watches him and follows his example.

Upon reaching their destination, they fasten their horses to a large tree and walk out on a deserted beach. The sand is almost snow-white, the water has begun to take on mysterious hues of sunset, and the whole coast looks somewhat magical. Flint sits right in the sand under the shade of a huge spreading palm tree and offers Billy a bottle of wine he brought, inviting him to sit down.

“You’re serious,” Billy arches his eyebrow.

Flint turns to face the ocean, opens the bottle and takes a gulp.

“If you want to stay in the heat, be my guest,” he exhales. The wine must be good. To hell with everything, Billy thinks; he nestles into the sand beside Flint, brazenly seizes the bottle from his hand and lifts it to his lips. The wine is palatable and deceptively light, it rolls like silk on his tongue. Flint snorts as he watches Billy swallow a few gulps and takes the bottle away from him before he is finished.

“I’m not gonna drag you back,” Flint warns him with a barely concealed smile.

“I’m pretty resistant to this,” Billy wipes his mouth as the Captain takes a swig. For a while, they watch the slowly setting sun in silence.

“I’m not mad at you for Vane,” Flint finally says. Billy turns to look at him, eyes widened in surprise. “I understand what it’s like, to be willing to die for the sake of those who deserve to live more than you. Especially when you have nothing to hold on to.”

“You think you have nothing to hold on to?” There is bitterness in Billy’s voice.

“Back at the Maroon camp, before meeting the Queen,” Flint squints at the sun, “Silver told me you didn’t care if I died. That’s when I knew what I had to do.” Billy knits his brows. Flint takes another swig and passes him the bottle. “Perhaps it was him who saved our crew back then, not me. If he hadn’t told me about you…”

“Don’t tell me that’s why you left the knife in the cage,” Billy shakes his head.

Flint doesn’t respond to this. “Did you know that Silver saved me when we found the Urca?” he says after a pause. “I know he’s plotting my crew against me, but back then… He was the one to drag me out of the water. I lost Gates, I thought I’d lost _you_ … I failed my crew, we were beaten, and I was supposed to drown. I wanted to.”

Billy can’t hold back a wince. He takes another gulp of wine before he speaks, desperation in his voice increasing, “Do you know what Hume put me through? Do you know what I endured – for _you_? The only thing that kept me sane was the thought that I needed to come back, to warn you,” he pauses to take a deep breath, “to protect you.”

“I know.” Flint’s eyes are fixed on him, unfathomable. “You came back to me, against all odds. It never happens to those who I... You went through all this and came back to me, even though I’m a monster who has spilled oceans of blood,” he says it like it’s nothing and reaches for the bottle. “You know it. You told me that yourself, and yet you’re here.” Billy’s mouth goes dry as the Captain’s tone becomes menacing. “So you should know this, Billy: I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you or take you away from me again. And fuck consequences.”

Billy frowns, stunned. He knows what he should be feeling – doubt, dismay, indignation, at least one of those. He struggles to his knees; Flint mirrors his movement, as if preparing himself for another punch from his bosun. Billy wrests the bottle out of Flint’s hand and throws it into the sand. Their dark gazes lock, they stay like this for several long moments, and then Billy lunges, throwing away his discretion. He grabs Flint’s hips and presses against him as their mouths crash together. Billy is expecting resistance, he thinks he is even hoping for it – but realizes that’s not the truth when Flint’s hands come up to cup his jaw; the man pushes back into him and captures Billy’s lower lip with his, inhaling, sucking it in. Billy lets out a low whimper and moves his hands up to squeeze Flint’s shoulders, to pull him even closer. He roughly shoves his tongue into Flint’s mouth, demanding reciprocity, and he receives it. He knows he might be giving up what’s left of his soul, disintegrating in the Captain’s sultry embrace, but his blood is singing, his entire body burns under another man’s touch, and the truth is – he longs for the flames of this long-suspended desire to consume him whole.

His clothes feel heavy and confining, and Billy pulls his mouth from Flint’s to get rid of his shirt, then reaches down and hastily removes Flint’s belt.

“Billy,” Flint pants helplessly, as if mesmerized, his heavy-lidded gaze roaming over the hard muscles of his bosun’s body. Billy vehemently drags Flint’s shirt over his head, almost tearing it off, and Flint lets him. The sensation of naked skin sends a shockwave thought them and they grind against each other, locking eyes, a slick sheen of sweat coating their chests. Flint suppresses a moan, teeth clenched, his muscular body tight – Billy can see he is still struggling to keep himself in check; it’s an intolerably tantalizing sight, and he feels a desperate urge to drive Flint over the edge. He angles Flint’s head so that he can kiss his neck, hot breath washing over his skin. He nuzzles his nose behind Flint’s ear and takes a lick. Flint shudders and raises his hand to brush his fingers through Billy’s hair, his breath coming faster. Encouraged, Billy nips at his earlobe, flicking his tongue over the earring, and pulls Flint’s pants open, but as he reaches inside, the Captain stops him.

Billy studies his face; it’s contorted in panic and want. Flint freezes, trying to catch his breath, his restraining hand on Billy’s arm. Then suddenly his eyes go wild and he pushes Billy back with such strength that he has to prop himself up on his arms. Flint leans forward, encircles Billy’s waist with both hands and covers his mouth with a devouring kiss. It’s raw and slick, there is no pretense in it, and Billy takes it with all his being, kissing him back with abandon, because it’s what he needed all along. He licks inside Flint’s mouth, sucks his tongue, tugs at his lower lip, and allows him to do the same to him.

Flint’s movements are slower, less fervent than Billy’s, but more steady and forceful. Billy can sense there is something deep and powerful behind them, dangerous for them both, and the hot haze of lust enveloping his mind thickens. Flint’s agile fingers slide down to Billy’s belt and work the buckle loose; his left hand grips Billy’s hip, and his right slips into his pants. The Captain’s touch is firm, possessive, and Billy gasps, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Flint tentatively moves his hand up and down Billy’s shaft, planting light kisses on the corner of his mouth, and Billy decides that he shouldn’t bother clinging to his sanity anymore.

Flint presses on Billy’s shoulders, gently but urgently, prompting him to lie down. Billy holds his heated gaze as his back touches the sand, soft and warm. He is dizzy, he isn’t sure that he is awake, but at the same time it feels like the most real thing he has experienced. Flint substantiates his thought by pulling Billy’s pants down from his hips with one rough tug. Billy bites his lip and forces himself up on his elbows; he watches Flint wrap his fingers around his cock, lower his head…

“Oh god!” Billy lets out an ecstatic moan. He throws his head back, inhaling deep, and peers at the dark blue sky, focusing on the ravishing sensations. Flint is careful at first, but then his mouth becomes hungry and merciless. He swirls his tongue along Billy’s length, he licks the head and sucks it in, he takes him down his throat, and Billy digs his fingers into the sand, allowing himself to moan freely, like one of Nassau’s most shameless whores. Before long the heat within him becomes excruciating, intensifying the effects of the wine, and Billy presses his back into the sand as he comes harder than he ever has in his life. He can feel Flint swallow, and he thrusts into his mouth, arching toward him, lost in the insane pleasure of his release. Flint doesn’t stop, only slows down; he keeps licking at Billy’s cock, more gently now, sliding his hand up to the quivering muscles of his stomach, then his chest. Billy watches him with hooded eyes, breathing heavily; he is covered in sweat and sand, but he doesn’t care. He lifts his hand and strokes Flint’s arm; Flint flinches and lets him go at once. He straightens up on his knees and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, averting his eyes. He staggers to his feet, and Billy rushes up to him.

“We have to get to the camp before it gets dark,” Flint says sharply, stepping back, and Billy freezes. Flint is panting, his whole body is trembling with arousal, his hard cock straining in his pants, and Billy needs to touch him, but he can see it in Flint’s eyes: he won’t let him. As Billy regains his ability to think, he feels a painful twinge of resentment, but forces a placid expression on his face when he speaks.

“That’s it? What about “fuck consequences”?” Billy asks, searching Flint’s face. “What are you so afraid of?”

Flint opens his mouth to reply and Billy watches him with a bitter smirk, knowing that he won’t find the words.

“Go. I’ll be right behind you,” says Billy in a hard voice.

Flint lets out a shaky sigh, turns around and strides away without saying a word. Billy decides that before he begins to ponder over what has just transpired, he needs to clear his mind, and clean his body while he’s at it. He strips off the rest of his clothes and walks into the calm water.

The waves welcome him, cooling his skin and washing off the evidence of his ardent encounter with the Captain, but his passion doesn’t subside. He swims until he can barely feel his arms, until the sun hides behind the ocean. When he finally comes out of the water, the evening breeze feels chilly. As he collects his clothes, he spots the bottle in the sand. There is still some wine left; he picks up the bottle with the intention to finish it, but the moment the tepid liquid touches his lips, a better idea strikes him.

Flint is what he is, and his darkness, his fickleness and mysteriousness are incurable, but what happened between them, what _is_ happening – it’s irreversible, it’s taking over their lives. Billy knows that it scares them both, but he can’t leave it like this. Not tonight, not after everything that has been said – and done. But mostly it’s about what _hasn’t_ been said and done. His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, he strides decisively toward the trees. He mounts his horse and gallops toward the camp for all he’s worth.

~~~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments inspire me. Very much :)

Music:

Radiohead – Climbing Up The Walls

Deftones – Digital Bath

Ocean Jet – Beat Me

~~~

 

The men have made a large fire by the camp, right on the beach. After the tedious day of cleaning and counting the guns, checking the supplies and dragging them all to the shore, they are weary and dozy, deadly sure that they’ve earned themselves a night of drinking, talking and being oblivious to everything that has happened to them and their brothers in the last few days.

Billy watches them through the trees. He could make them put out the fire and get the hell off the beach, he could shout at them for not being cautious, and they would listen and obey his orders. But he doesn’t, because at the moment _he_ is the most reckless pirate on this island, and he needs no witnesses. Flint’s tent is not far from the beach, and he surreptitiously sneaks toward it.

When Billy unceremoniously steps in, Flint is cleaning his pistol. He has just been in the water, and Billy openly ogles him from head to toe. He looks almost the same as when Billy saw him this morning: shirtless, pants hanging loosely on his hips, wet skin shimmering even in the faint light from the lantern. Except now he is exhausted, uneasy, his entire body exuding tension. Billy wants to say, _the ocean doesn’t always cool you off, does it_. He knows what he has to do. The game Flint mentioned earlier is not over; it might be Flint’s tent, but Billy isn’t going to be the one lured into a trap.

“You left this,” Billy holds out the bottle.

Flint doesn’t stop, doesn’t react in any overt way.

“It doesn’t change anything. I can’t stay,” Billy says dryly.

Flint momentarily stops in his tracks. Billy feels triumphant when the man puts his pistol away and glowers at him, feral expression on his face.

“Is that why you came here? To tell me that _nothing_ has changed?” Flint speaks through clenched teeth. Billy thinks that his Captain has never looked so much like a wild beast, and he needs to be exceedingly careful if he wants to tame him. If that is at all possible.

“And to give you this,” he takes a few steps forward and places the bottle on the stand, next to Flint’s pistol, then looks Flint in the eye, defiantly.

Flint scowls up at him and Billy smirks to himself: for the first time in his life, Flint can barely hold his gaze – not the other way around.  

“Well, now that you’re done, get out,” Flint spits, forcing a commanding tone.

Billy doesn’t stir: he is standing up straight, waiting, until Flint begins to pant angrily. He moves forward and grabs Billy’s shoulders to push him away.

“Get the fuck out!” he roars.

Billy glares at him and pushes him back – more roughly. Flint rushes furiously at Billy, but stops right in front of him, his fists clenching and unclenching; a wild, insane glint in his eyes.

“Do it,” Billy demands, leaning down close to his face, “hit me.”

Flint’s expression softens, and for a moment it seems to Billy that there’s moisture in his eyes.

“I can’t,” whispers Flint.

Billy exhales sharply, like it’s what he expected to hear – or was afraid to hear. He instantly grips Flint’s forearms and starts moving, forcing the man to walk backwards until he is pressed against the stand. Billy drops to his knees, tugs Flint’s pants down, and now he has him trapped: Flint’s breathing is ragged, he follows Billy’s movements with wide eyes, his pent-up need getting the upper hand over his fear, and Billy is seized with a savage impulse to drag him further into the state of pure lust.

“No… Billy,” mutters Flint, his tone embarrassingly unconvincing.

Billy shoots him a lewd look, bares his teeth. “Shut up,” he hisses.

He doesn’t wait for Flint to respond – he just swallows him down in one swift motion, hears Flint’s high-pitched grunt, and his own cock throbs with excitement.

He sucks him hard at first, only intending to make the man come undone as soon as possible, but as he listens to Flint’s impassioned gasps, as the taste of him fills his senses, the need to savor him takes over, and Billy unconsciously slows down. He revels in the Captain’s scent and absorbs his flavor, tongue greedily exploring his length, and suddenly he doesn’t really want it to end, but then Flint’s voice brings him back to his senses.

“Take off your clothes,” Flint says hoarsely. When Billy pulls away, the Captain’s face is almost unrecognizable, ablaze with desire, and Billy gets so hot that he has to take off his shirt anyway. He hastily throws it aside and takes the man’s cock in his hand, determined to continue, but Flint grabs his chin and forces him to look up.

“All of them,” the Captain growls, his voice lower than ever, and Billy feels drunk again when he realizes that this might be an order. So he staggers up to his feet and obeys, his eyes not leaving Flint’s.

Their faces so close to each other, Billy can’t miss the opportunity to kiss him, and he grips the back of Flint’s neck, dips his tongue past his lips; Flint opens his mouth wide for him as Billy plunders it deep, making the man taste himself. Their cocks are rock hard, and they begin to rub against each other, their breathing increasingly heavy. Billy feels elated, euphoric, and just when he thinks they both are about to explode, Flint tears away from his mouth and pushes him back on his knees.

He swipes his fingers through Billy’s hair as he gazes down at him, a mad mixture of carnality and tenderness in his eyes, and Billy assaults him. He sucks ravenously, his tongue masterfully sliding along the shaft, and Flint’s panting becomes noisy and desperate, his hand tightens against the back of Billy’s head. He is struggling to hold back his moans, to be more gentle with Billy, but he loses control, and he shoves himself deep into his bosun’s mouth as he comes with an impossibly salacious grunt. He spills until Billy nearly chokes and breaks away, replacing his lips with his hand. Flint is shaking, clinging at the edge of the stand as the avalanche of bliss engulfs him, and Billy watches him hungrily – he won this game. But the Captain surprises him yet again.

Flint sinks to his knees beside him. He sloppily wipes Billy’s mouth with his hand, slowly traces his lips with his thumb. His eyes are smiling, shining with want, and Billy can’t bring himself to look away. Flint shifts close to him, takes hold of his leaking cock, and Billy lets out a sensual, grateful sigh, his hands coming up to cling at the man’s shoulders. The Captain’s steady grip is familiar, but then he begins to stroke softly, almost leisurely. He locks his gaze on Billy, and a tiny smirk of self-content flickers across his face each time the bosun gasps or pushes impatiently into his hand.

Billy is still sure he is the conqueror here: it was him who brought out animal passion in Flint, it was him who made him let go of control. But it’s Flint who always gets the upper hand eventually, and Billy lets the Captain hold him possessively; he whines with pleasure, presses into him, surrenders his body to him – and that’s the way he wants it.

Flint picks up the pace, his hand working much more vigorously now, inexorably taking Billy toward the edge. Flint’s fingers flick over the head, and Billy bites his lips, clawing at the man’s arms.

“Fuck!” the shout escapes from him, followed by a loud moan. Flint brings his mouth close to Billy’s.

“Shut up,” he grins mockingly and covers Billy’s lips with his own. His left hand slides down to Billy’s bare bottom, squeezes it tight, and Billy half-moans, half-growls into his mouth as he explodes at last, his seed shooting out hot, splashing over Flint’s hand and stomach. Flint keeps stroking him as Billy writhes through his climax; he drags his mouth away and presses soft kisses along Billy’s jaw, whispering only just audible words, and Billy finds he still possesses the ability to think when he realizes they are Spanish. He compulsively drops his head to Flint’s shoulder and wraps his arms around him. Flint freezes for a second, then lets go of Billy’s cock and raises his hands to caress his back, leaning into his embrace, and it’s no less thrilling to Billy than the touches they exchanged seconds ago. He is fucking lost.

Billy doesn’t know how long they hold each other before he decides that it’s time to stand up and right himself. As his hunger diminishes, it dawns on him that he has allowed himself the unacceptable luxury of _forgetting_ , and if there is still a chance to save his own future, he has to muster up the willpower to at least make an attempt. Flint reluctantly lets him slip out of his arms; he promptly rises to his feet and helps Billy up. His right hand is still slick and smeared, and he begins to clean himself off.

“Stay,” he breathes out as he watches Billy put his clothes back on.

Billy scoffs, tightening the belt on his hips, “What do you think the men will say when I stroll out of your tent in the morning…”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Flint interrupts him.

Billy gives him a lingering look, “I stick to what I said. Or has something changed?”

“Beg pardon?” Flint blinks in confusion.

“Have you suddenly started to respect my decisions or care about your crew?” Billy says with a despondent smirk. He needs to be uncompromising in his role now. “You didn’t let me lead the men in Nassau, and half of them died. I don’t give a fuck what you said. It doesn’t matter if you care about me. If you can’t treat me like an equal – I can’t stay. And this,” he gestures between them, “has nothing to do with our work.”

“Billy,” Flint knits his brows and moves toward him, but Billy backs away.

“We need to survive the rest of the week first, so perhaps you should concentrate on that,” he averts his eyes and forces himself to step out of the tent.

 

 ***

 

When they return to New Providence with the rest of the men, everything is hectic in their camp, and they all know: something went wrong. Billy and Flint instinctively exchange apprehensive looks. It’s the first time their eyes meet since last night.

“We miscalculated,” Silver informs them. “English ships arrive in the morning. Bonny and Rackham won’t be able to make it here until tomorrow, so we don’t have enough resources to intercept them. There’s nothing we can do now.”

Flint makes a peculiar gesture, addressed to Silver and understandable only to him, and draws him aside. They talk quietly, like partners – not enemies, and Billy’s first thought is, _at least there really is no time for a mutiny now_. Then he decides to speak to the only person among them who knows that _there is always something they can do_.

“There’s still something we can do,” Teach says in a drawn-out manner, self-composed as ever. “Have you forgotten, Billy?”

“You mean, steal the papers?” Billy imitates his tone. “But if we can’t approach the ships, how do we …”

“As luck will have it,” Teach interrupts him, and it’s funny to Billy that he is optimistic enough to even use the word “luck” these days, “the ship we need, _the Falcon_ , is supposed to arrive on the eastern shore – that is, close to where we are. There’ll be a carriage waiting, no more than four men in it – but they’ll be heavily armed, mind you, and aware of the importance of their mission. They’ll be taking the box to Nassau, and we must get hold of it long before it reaches the destination.

“I’ll take three men,” Billy states with a determined look on his face.

“Two men,” Flint corrects him as he storms inside the hut; his stern voice nearly startles Billy. “The less, the better. You can’t draw any attention.” He directs his hard gaze at the bosun, and Billy curses his heart for missing a beat because Flint said “you”, not “we”; because he looked at him like that – like he looks at everyone else.

“Now that you’re here,” Teach barely moves a muscle to acknowledge Flint’s presence, then addresses Billy, “there’s one more thing. The box needs to be hidden for a while – and hidden well, somewhere safe. We can’t keep it here.”

The Captains exchange inscrutable glances, and Billy puts his hands on his hips, as though demanding an explanation.

“And it just so happens that there _is_ such a place,” says Flint, and Billy turns his head to him again; the men take turns speaking as if they rehearsed it, “Even our crews don’t know about it. Only me and him,” Flint nods at Teach, his eyes still on Billy, “and now you.”

Neither of them speaks for several seconds, and Billy inquiringly shrugs his shoulders, his eyes flicking between the older men, making it obvious it’s about time to reveal whatever the hell they’ve been hiding.

“So what is this mysterious place?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“My house,” Flint replies at once. “The one… I never lived in. It came into my possession long ago, shortly after I became Captain,” he adds at Billy’s dumbfounded look. “I figured we could use it for such… operations.”

“So you’ve kept this a secret for years,” Billy says to Flint, then turns his head toward Teach, “and now _you_ know about it – why?”

“Captain Flint thinks that alliances are more important than some secrets,” smirks Teach. “Who knew – we do share some beliefs.”

Flint gives him a brief sneer. His look softens when he turns to Billy. “As only the two of us know where it is, you have to take one of us with you. It’s your choice.”

“I have to choose?” Billy cannot believe his own ears; he cannot believe that Flint looks away, nervously drumming his fingers on the wood; he cannot believe that Flint doesn’t want him to go, or at least wants to go with him, but he gives Billy a _choice_.

“You don’t,” Blackbeard sighs after long seconds of silence. “I must be here when Jack and Anne arrive.”

Billy can almost feel his eyes light up and he knows he isn’t capable of hiding it, so he doesn’t even try; not when he sees an expression on Flint’s face that must be a reflection of his own. Yet Flint faintly objects, “I think you’ve been on charge of both our crews long enough.”

“Exactly. I need to work with _my_ crew now, the best part of which arrives tomorrow. And you need to work with _yours_ ,” Teach shoots Billy a knowing glance, “and what is your crew without Billy Bones?” 

 

 ***

 

“Billy, a word,” says Teach as soon as Flint leaves.

Billy approaches him warily; Blackbeard gives him a slightly patronizing smile.

“You know what it’s about, don’t you? Have you done what I asked of you?” his eyes bore into Billy’s. “Have you reached a decision?”

Billy hesitates for a moment, but it’s enough.

“I figured,” a bitter smirk darkens Blackbeard’s face.

“No! I haven’t changed my mind,” Billy hurriedly assures him.

“That’s right, you haven’t. Because you were never ready to leave his crew.”

“ _My_ crew,” Billy is struggling to keep his voice from trembling.

“Yes, but it’s all about _him_ , isn’t it? I’d had doubts before I let you leave with him, but now I have none. There’s too much at stake, Billy. I can’t rely solely on your pirate skills. I need your absolute loyalty.” Billy lowers his head as Teach says the word. “You _are_ a great pirate. But when Flint is concerned, your judgement falters. He’s the only one you’ll always stand for, no matter how hard you try to change it. Can’t say I didn’t appreciate the effort though.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy replies in a shaky whisper, unable to lift up his eyes, unable to deny the truth anymore.  

Teach lets out a deep sigh and pats Billy on the shoulder. “Just try not to get yourself killed, son. We have a common goal to pursue, so don’t let me down while I still need you, alright?” Billy meets his eyes at last, and the man gives him an almost comforting wink. “Come, we have yet to confer about your mission.”

 

 ***

 

They ride at dawn – Billy, Flint and Desmond, one of their best fighters. They stay close to each other throughout the journey, but none of them says a word. Billy focuses on the steady thud of hooves, his own steady breathing – in and out. The morning air is fresh, humid, filled with hope, or so it seems to Billy, and he doesn’t want to think about what happens if they fail.

They hide in the trees by the most desolate road to Nassau. It’s strange that the British chose this one – it’s hardly good enough for a carriage; or that Rogers didn’t send his men to ensure security. He must really want everything to be as inconspicuous as possible. Well, that makes it easier for the three of them to ambush the enemy.

Billy glances sideways at Flint, and the man notices. He puts his hand on Billy’s arm and squeezes it softly, reassuringly. Billy can only see the Captain’s eyes, black turban shielding the rest of his face, but they are bright and intense, they pierce through him, and it adds to his pre-fight anticipation, making his blood boil and rush to his groin. He swallows and begrudgingly shifts away from Flint’s hand, tightening his fingers around the barrel of the gun.

“They’re coming,” Desmond says in a sharp whisper, and their eyes dart toward the road.

The men get on their horses as the distant clatter of the carriage becomes heavier and louder. Desmond takes aim and shoots the coachman; the shot startles the horses, they slow down, and that’s when Billy and Flint attack.  

Billy gets to the carriage first. He jumps off his horse, springs to the door and flings it open. He miraculously dodges every shot before he reaches for one of the four British soldiers and throws him off the carriage. Flint approaches from the other side and shoots another one through the door. There are only two men left now, and Billy knocks the weapons out of their hands. His movements are precise and forceful, he feels like his strength has increased fivefold, and he starts hitting the men with his fists, empowered with adrenaline.

Desmond manages to stop the horses, and Flint rushes inside the carriage the moment one of the soldiers takes out a dagger. Billy’s eyes widen at the blade flashing right in front of his face as Flint drags the man away from him. They begin to wrestle on the ground, Billy follows them with his eyes, and his remaining opponent takes advantage of it, reaching for Billy’s throat, his hands encircling it tight, trying to choke him. He is strong, but Billy is a great deal stronger: he frees from the grip. The adversary lunges for him again, punches him in the face; Billy feels for his weapon, but he can’t find it. Presently, Desmond runs up to them, and it doesn’t take him two seconds to draw his pistol and shoot the soldier dead.

“What would you do without me,” he says to Billy with a boyish smile; it freezes on his face as a bullet hits his head, and his body crumples to the ground. Billy shudders at the sight, everything happening in a blink of an eye, but instantly composes himself and grabs one of the soldiers’ pistols. Fueled by rage, he doesn’t act carefully. He impetuously jumps out and takes aim, as if he knows exactly where the enemy will be. The man he threw out of the carriage earlier is lying on the ground, alive, and Billy thinks he sees a wisp of smoke still coming out of the muzzle of his pistol, the one he shot his brother with. Billy pulls the trigger; he wants to do it again, and again, but then hears Flint’s loud groan and runs to him.

Flint is sitting on the ground, slouching forward. His adversary’s body is sprawled beside him, the dagger sticking out of his chest.

“Are you hurt?” Billy gets down on his knees, puts his hands on Flint’s shoulders, prompting him to look up. Flint’s hooded eyes meet his own, he lifts his hand to Billy’s face, and suddenly nothing else matters to Billy when he sees blood on his palm.

“It’s just a scratch,” Flint smiles strenuously as Billy bares his stomach to see the wound. It’s a deep cut, just below the ribcage, and it needs to be tended to. “The box,” Flint croaks. “Find it, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Billy dashes to the carriage; he finds the damned box and takes it out before he searches for some sort of medical supplies. Luckily, he finds alcohol and bandages, so he makes the best of them.

“Hold it tight,” he commands, taking Flint’s hand into his and making him press the bandage to the cut. “Can you stand up?”

“I’m not dying,” grumbles Flint, struggling to his feet with considerable help from Billy. He gets on the horse in the same manner, and Billy hands him over the box. It’s small but quite heavy.

“Can you hold on to it?” he says at Flint’s quizzical expression. He doesn’t wait for a response and mounts the horse behind Flint, putting his left arm around him and pressing against him. A small gasp escapes Flint. It’s probably the pain, Billy thinks.

“Are you out of your mind?” Flint asks but doesn’t move from Billy. 

“You can’t ride by yourself,” Billy grabs the reins with his right hand. “And I have to leave with both you and the box, so we’ll have to make it work.”

“Damn it, Billy,” Flint whispers as the bosun nudges their horse, and they ride off to the northern shore.

 

 ***

 

“We’re here,” Billy pants into Flint’s ear once they hear the sound of the ocean.

“So soon? I was enjoying this,” Flint leans back against him, weakened, but still tightening his hand around the box.

Billy smirks and gets off the horse. “Come on,” he holds out his hand.

“Wait, who’s coming with us?” Flint says gingerly, ignoring Billy’s gesture.

The bushes rustle, and a man appears – none other than Ben Gunn. “Billy,” he shouts from a distance. “Captain,” he adds in a more restrained voice as he approaches them.

“You must be joking,” Flint lets out an annoyed sigh, even though it obviously takes all his willpower to hold back the groans of pain.

“Be quiet,” Billy growls at him and signals Ben to help get the Captain to the water.

“How bad is it?” Ben asks him as the two of them push the skiff.

“The wound is not so bad. But it needs to be cleaned,” Billy grunts as he jumps inside. “How far is it?”

“Three hours,” Flint breathes out heavily, pressing his hand against his side, “maybe two, if the wind is in our favor.”

Ben grabs the oars and gives Billy a hopeless look. “Desmond?”

Billy shakes his head and follows Ben’s lead. They lay on the oars, but soon discover there is no need to row. The wind is strong, and it’s rapidly taking them away, to a place known only to their Captain.

 ~~~


	6. Chapter 6

Music:

M83 – Outro

Lana Del Rey – Burning Desire

Rag'n'Bone Man – Sirens

~~~

 

The languid sunrays barely touch the translucent waves, making them gleam with a spectrum of colors. Ben’s hair is streaming in the wind, his radiant azure eyes are distant, fixed on the horizon – or something else, Billy only knows that he is trying to look away, wishing he wasn’t here, in this skiff with them. Billy shifts his gaze to Flint and is instantly met by the Captain’s scorching green eyes.

Billy used to flinch, or get goosebumps, or awkwardly turn away – usually all at once – each time Flint caught him staring at him. But he won’t do either of those things anymore. He stands up, his eyes slowly, deliberately drifting back to Ben, and puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Ben looks up at him, his features soft but darkened by sorrow. _How can two men be so different_ , Billy thinks. How many twists of fate brought him here, to this spot between them, and how come the scales are eventually tipped toward the one who will likely be his undoing.

“It’s not fair. He can’t keep getting away with this,” Ben finally voices his chagrin, glaring at Flint, and it’s the first time Billy senses a hint of spite in him.

Flint unwillingly turns to face Ben, heaving a weary sigh.

“I beg your pardon, Mister Gunn?” he responds in his usual condescending tone, which has always infuriated Billy, even though Flint has hardly ever used it with him.

“How come good people die and you always stay safe, Captain?” Ben squints at him. Now this is the tone Billy has often used with Flint: accusatory and insolent. “Are you going to exploit your men as your shield until there's none of us left?”

“Ben,” Billy leans down closer, “Desmond's death wasn't anyone's fault, he was...”

“He’s gonna get you killed, Billy!” Ben shouts, springing to his feet.

“He saved me out there, Ben,” Billy assures him. “He risked his own life to save mine. How do you think he got this wound?”

“Speaking of,” groans Flint, pressing his hand against his side, “I think it's getting worse. Billy, would you mind taking a look?” he asks with a pained expression.

When Billy squats down in front of Flint and leans forward to check the bandage, Flint puts his hand on his forearm. Billy tenses and tries to ignore it, but then Flint slides his hand up to the back of his neck and strokes. Billy leaps away from him. Flint’s lips curl into a sneer.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Billy bellows.

“Please, Billy, just look at him. He knows,” Flint nods toward Ben.

Billy glances back at Ben anxiously. The boy’s face is marred by a shadow of bitterness.

“But he won’t tell anyone. Right, Ben?” Flint continues, his gaze now presumptuous, his sneer sinister. “Cheer up, boys,” his eyes dart back and forth between the younger men, “we’re here.”

Billy half-expects to see a magical land with mysterious gargantuan trees, but this island is no different from any other. Even so, he is relieved that their tiresome journey is over. Once they set foot on shore, Flint limps inland without waiting for them; Billy seizes Ben’s arm and prompts him to face him. The moment he opens his mouth to speak, Ben interrupts him.

“I won’t tell anyone anything, Billy. I just… I hope you can restrain him. He listens to you now. Don’t let him play with our lives.”

“There’s no restraining him,” Billy tries to squeeze out a smile, “but I promise you, Ben, I’ll protect all of you.” He hesitates before he adds, “I was gonna leave the crew, but… I belong on the Walrus. And no one else is gonna die, not on my watch.”

“You’ve never had much of a choice, have you?” Ben smirks ruefully. Billy’s face almost twists into a frown, but eventually he just gawks in confusion. Ben purses his lips and gives him one last lingering look. “I’ll be back in a day or so,” he says and turns away.

They push the skiff into the water in silence.

 

***

 

The house is right on the beach, by the tree line. Contrary to Billy’s expectations – yet again – it’s not a ramshackle hut; it’s a spacious house, too big and tidy for such a deserted place. Flint enters first; Billy follows, dragging in the bag with supplies and Rogers’ box. Evening sun illuminates the living room, golden specks of dust hover in the air.

“Make yourself at home,” mutters Flint and slips away into the next room.

Billy puts the things down and looks around. The place seems so peaceful and quiet; it would make a safe haven for a pirate who decided to walk away from the sea and live a life free from blood and gold. But Billy knows there hasn’t been a pirate who got to walk away. He glances in the mirror above the washstand, intending to walk past it, but what he sees in it makes him stop short.

It has been days since Billy saw his own reflection. He realizes it when he stares at a lean brutal face, burdened with sins and sorrows. His left cheek is spattered with blood, and he didn’t even notice. His neat stubble has turned into a shaggy beard, his hair has grown longer than it has ever been. His shirt is stained with blood and dirt; Billy sighs and takes it off. He studies his tattoo, his arms: he might have lost some weight, but his muscles seem to be harder now, more bulging, prominent veins going all the way down to his wrists. He washes his face with old water from the bucket by the mirror and leans in to take a closer look.

‘You are a sight.”

Billy starts at the ironic voice right behind him. Flint is standing in the doorway, watching him. He looks like he is about to slump down, so Billy walks up to him.

“Let’s take care of this, shall we?” Billy suggests in a restrained tone, pointing his eyes down at Flint’s wound.

 

Flint leans back, sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, and Billy starts to remove the bandage carefully.

“He is right,” Billy breaks the silence. “Good men keep dying around us.”

Flint lifts his head in surprise, but in a moment his face is as hard and remorseless as usual. Billy keeps his eyes on the wound.

“We can’t put our lives above theirs,” he sounds like a doctor giving strict orders to a patient.

“I’ll always put your life above theirs,” Flint looks straight at him, but Billy averts his eyes all the same. “Everything you’ve been through… their worst nightmares can’t compare with that. And a great deal of it is my fault.”

“It isn’t,” Billy frowns. “Do me a favor, don’t ever treat me like a victim.”

Flint’s lips curve into a crooked smile. “Now that you’re about to leave my crew, you’re gonna ask me for favors? Maybe you’ll start to address me by my name too? Considering everything that has transpired lately, it’s only fair.”

Billy pours some alcohol on the wound, making Flint hiss and tilt his head back.

“Nothing has transpired, _James_ ,” he grins.

Flint gives a short laugh. “Sometimes I forget how good you are at lying.” His eyes flick over Billy’s upper body. “You’re good at everything, actually. I wonder where you got the experience…”

“Of lying? From you, of course,” Billy doesn’t miss a beat.

Flint bares his teeth. “Clever. But that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m not asking questions about _your_ life,” Billy scowls at him, “so don’t ask me about mine.”

“Who said you can’t ask me?” Flint arches an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t wanna know the answers.”

Billy scoffs. “In fact, I do have one question. How did you come into possession of this house?”

Flint lets out a long sigh. “Do you remember that ointment I used on your scratch?”

“Yeah, it healed in a day. What was that?”

Flint nods toward the opposite corner of the room. “Top drawer. There should be some of it left.”

Billy gives him a brief quizzical look before striding to an old chest of drawers. He fumbles through it and comes back with a small old jar. When he opens it, he wrinkles his nose, making Flint chuckle.

“The herbs don’t smell so good, but it can heal anything within hours. The man who owned this house gave it to me. I still don’t know where to get more of it.”

“Hasn’t it gone bad?” Billy carefully spreads a small amount of the substance on Flint’s wound.

“It’s retained its healing properties. I’ll be as good as new by the morning.”

Billy makes a skeptical sound.

“That’s impossible.”

“You’ll see,” Flint leers at him.

“So what happened to that man?” Billy gets back on subject, forcing a serious expression.

Flint looks down at his wound for a few seconds, then replies, “He died soon after he joined my crew.”

“Really?” Billy smirks bitterly as he wipes his hands on a piece of cloth. “And he just… gave you his house before he died?”

Flint opens his mouth to respond but Billy hastily gestures at him.

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t wanna know the answers.”

“Billy,” Flint lightly touches his arm, as if he doesn’t want Billy to move away from him.

“Please don’t hurt Ben,” Billy blurts out suddenly, his voice both hard and imploring.

Flint raises his chin and studies Billy’s face, one corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.

“I won’t,” he finally responds, “if he behaves.”

“He won’t tell anyone anything,” Billy assures him and shifts closer. “Promise me that nothing will happen to him.”

Their faces haven’t been so close to each other since that night on Eleuthera; Flint’s gaze begins to move faster over Billy’s features.

“I promise,” he says, his fingers traveling further up Billy’s arm teasingly. “What’s in it for me?’

Billy pulls away, letting Flint’s hand drop down on the table.

“I won’t let you bleed to death,” he sneers.

“Too late, Billy. You’ve already patched me up.”

“I’ll think of something,” Billy winks mockingly, almost maliciously. “Let’s take a look inside that box now,” he suggests in a conciliatory tone, drawing a smooth line under their conversation.

 

It doesn’t take them long to unlock the box. Billy grabs the papers and rustles through them, leaving it to Flint to check what’s on the bottom.

“It says Rogers must return all of the Urca gold, as he promised,” he is speaking slowly, stupefied. “And it says he’s in a huge debt.”

“Debt means weakness,” Flint strokes his beard meditatively, taking something out of the box and rolling it around in his other hand.

“Did you miss the other part?” Billy makes a helpless gesture, holding out the papers; his voice becomes increasingly worried. “About the treasure?.. What if they find it? They know where the island is. Did you hide it well enough?”

“I did,” Flint replies soothingly, approaching him. “We don’t need to worry about that. We have all the advantages now: the rebellion, the fleet, our allies – and the treasure. Besides, your share has just gotten bigger.”

Flint opens his hand: there are several shiny black pearls – large, evidently best quality. Flint takes Billy’s wrist and tips the pearls into his hand.

“Apparently, England decided to give Rogers one last loan,” he delightedly watches Billy roll the pearls around in his hand with poorly concealed fascination.

“Are you trying to buy me back now?”

Flint chuckles. ”Would that work?”

“I’m not a whore,” Billy raises an eyebrow. Flint bites back something that Billy knows could be a filthy comment. They both struggle not to smile.

“Then no,” Flint responds. “I just want you to do whatever you see fit with them.”

Billy eyes him with suspicion, sudden curiosity and something else he realizes he is having trouble hiding. Flint holds his gaze with an amused, expectant grin.

“Alright then,” Billy clears his throat and puts the pearls in the pouch tied to his belt, raising his chin, as if to make sure that Flint isn’t joking. “So there’s no one else on this island?”

“It’s been deserted for years,” Flint doesn’t move or change his expression.

“We need fresh water.”

“There’s a well further inland, about half a mile away from here. I’ll show you.”

“No, you should rest. I’ll find it,” Billy insists, hoping there isn’t a trace of concern in his voice.

“As you wish,” Flint says as he turns and walks toward the next room. “Oh, and there are two bedrooms, in case you’re worried about that,” he adds over his shoulder.

Billy scoffs and follows him with his eyes.

 

***

 

Worn out after the fight and the long journey – he doesn’t know which was more exhausting – Billy falls fast asleep.

He sees himself surrounded by a thick dark haze. Flint is there too; his hair is long, like it used to be, and slightly disheveled; his eyes are unnaturally green, glowing with strange fire. Flint is towering over him, so Billy might be on his knees, he can’t see it clearly. The Captain’s right hand is bloody; he grasps Billy’s chin, smearing it with blood. His smile is wry and wicked when he demands, “I want you to say it, Billy.”

Billy looks up at him so worshipfully that it scares him even in the dream. “You are my king,” he says, his voice is raw, full of obedience and adoration, and Flint’s smile widens. He reaches his hand down, pulls Billy up, and their mouths clash together. That’s when Billy tastes blood. The taste is unbearably real, it makes him feel as if he is being drawn into a deadly abyss. Flint tears his mouth away and forces him down on his knees again. “Now prove it,” he breathes out, and his lustful voice resounds in Billy’s ears as he wakes up in a cold sweat.

He sits up, trying to chase away a strange thrill. His heart is pounding, he can’t catch his breath, and his cock is painfully hard. He springs out of the bed, spitting out a filthy curse. He puts his pants on, hastily collects the rest of his clothes and heads out for the well.

Billy almost gasps at the beauty he didn’t notice last night at twilight: the well is surrounded by bright-green, exuberant plants; crystal clear water flows over a hillside, forming a small picturesque waterfall. Its placatory sound steadies Billy’s nerves, cool sensation refreshing his body as he walks in. The darkness of his dream is fading in his mind, and he concentrates on its more exciting parts. He stands under the waterfall, and he smiles when the water pours over his head, streaming through his hair and beard, down his body. He closes his eyes and thinks of Flint’s hands on him, the touch of his lips – he remembers every detail of their few encounters so vividly. Instinctively, he runs his hands over his muscles, caressing rather than washing. Somehow all of this makes him feel free, wild, powerful. He breaks off when he catches a glimpse of Flint in his peripheral vision.

Flint is standing still, watching him, thumbs tucked into his belt. Billy can’t make out his expression, but he desperately wants to see that fire, the raw desire. It seems like the materialization of his thoughts: he made a wish, and Flint appeared right in front of him. Billy slowly walks out of the water, his shoulders straight. He shamelessly exposes his naked body to Flint, pleased to see admiration in the Captain’s eyes. The sun is high in the sky, it's getting hotter, and he doesn't bother drying himself, letting the cool water trickle down his skin. He glances at Flint as he slips his pants on, hoping to give the man a self-contented grin in return for a hungry look but, unexpectedly, Flint is looking away.

"It’s gonna be hot today. You should return to the house. I've made us something to eat."

Flint’s voice is cold, his expression is suddenly apathetic in contrast with his recent frisky mood, and it stings. Billy doesn’t let it show.

“Is that your way of showing me gratitude? You think the pearls weren’t enough?” he manages a playful smile.

“I saved your life, we’re even. But now that you’ve mentioned it…”

Flint lifts up his shirt; Billy’s eyes widen when he sees that there’s barely a mark of the wound left on Flint’s skin.

“I told you it would heal,” Flint cocks his head triumphantly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to wash off all this shit,” he removes his shirt, throws it in the sand with a look of disgust and begins to take off his belt, gesturing Billy to leave. Billy gawks at him for several seconds and then obeys.  

 

***

 

He wanders idly about the house, sipping wine from one of the bottles he has found in the cupboard. Hours have passed, but there’s been no sign of Ben’s skiff. Flint only came to have some food and left again without saying a word. Billy begins to pace worriedly. He has to admit to himself: Flint’s sudden aloofness is driving him mad. He has to find out what the hell happened, he thinks as he walks out, grabbing the bottle on the way.

He spots Flint at once. The Captain is sitting on the beach, facing the ocean. Billy sighs and approaches him slowly. His eyes and his beard hair are shining like gold in the pre-sunset light. He doesn’t even acknowledge the bosun’s presence, so Billy stands in front of him, blocking the light.

“Don’t you own a shirt?” Flint says phlegmatically, still refusing to dignify him with a glance. Billy smirks to himself.

“My shirt’s ruined. I need a new one.”

He sits beside Flint and mirrors his posture, eyes fixed on the water.

“I had a dream,” says Flint after a long silence.

Billy turns his head and gawks at him. “What did you dream about?” he asks gingerly, unsure he wants to hear the answer.

“Doesn’t matter,” Flint’s features become sorrow-stricken. He adds after a pause, “You were dead. Because of me.”

Billy studies his face, vacillating between the feelings that are all wrong: relief, fear and arousal.

“Maybe it’s sign, a warning. Maybe I should leave you be,” Flint continues with a wistful frown. “Men should resist temptation.”

The words send a hot shiver though Billy’s whole body, somehow wiping out two of the feelings and leaving only one.

“Speaking of temptation,” Billy gives Flint a sly look and offers him the bottle.

Flint scoffs and accepts it. He takes a big swig as Billy watches him with the same look on his face, mouth slightly open. The moment Flint puts down the bottle, Billy shifts closer, and Flint stares at him in perplexity and apprehension.

“Now can you resist _this_?” Billy rises to his knees, towering over Flint, then settles into his lap. He covers Flint’s hand, tightened around the neck of the bottle, with his own, lacing their fingers together. His chest levels with Flint’s face, and he forces the man to look up at him as he hooks his arm around his neck. When their eyes meet, the Captain’s breath becomes traitorously uneven.

“You’re Captain James fucking Flint,” Billy speaks against Flint’s mouth, and the air between them is instantly hot. “You don’t have to resist temptation,” Billy draws back with a suggestive smile; Flint ogles him, unable to protest. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything…   _ashamed_ of anything…” Flint winces at the words and jerks up toward him, but Billy playfully dodges him. His hands leave Flint, but he continues to hold his gaze; he reaches down and begins to undo his pants, his smile getting wider as Flint’s breath comes faster. He touches his own cock, and Flint lunges at him again, now with dangerous impatience.

“Billy,” he growls close to the bosun’s lips.

Billy firmly restrains him with one hand, the other slowly moving up and down his own shaft. He doesn’t think twice – he doesn’t think at all, he simply allows the tide of his longing to carry him wherever he will at last be satiated. He begins to sway in time with his quickening thrusts, and Flint squeezes his hips, clenching his teeth in a futile attempt to restrain himself. Billy tightens his arm around him; both their breaths become fervent.

“Fuck dreams…” Billy pants. “We’re making a new reality here… _James…_ ” he says the name in a hot whisper, letting their foreheads touch.

Flint roughly flips him onto his back with a low feral grunt. The Captain’s strength has always astonished Billy, making his own primal instincts come to the fore; he moans and allows the man to shove his hands above his head. Flint’s erection pushes against his own exposed cock, and he arches into the touch.

“Changed your mind?” Billy grins contentedly at Flint.

Flint pushes against him one more time, eliciting a groan from Billy.

“If my bosun can’t behave himself,” Flint breathes out, “I have to do something about it.”

In response, Billy throws his head back against the sand, his lips parted, eyes burning with anticipation, and he simply waits. When Flint attacks him, their collision is barbaric: mouths fighting, tongues sliding against each other; there is spit, taste of wine and ragged panting. Their beards rub together, coarse against their lips as they move sloppily and urgently, and it adds to the savageness of the kiss.   

Flint releases Billy’s wrists to get rid of his clothes. Billy attempts to help him, but his assistance is of no avail: his hands are shaking, just like Flint’s, and by the time they are both naked, impatience doubles their hunger. Flint pins him down with the weight of his body, grinds their shafts together, and Billy cries out at the violent wave of disproportional pleasure that swallows him up. He snakes his hand between their bodies and encircles them both with his long fingers.

The sensation is exquisite to him, as is Flint’s reaction: the Captain gasps and shifts to hold himself up on his arms; he presses his forehead against Billy’s chest and watches his hand work them both. Billy thinks he wants to see it too, but he is occupied anyway: he can barely breathe as he strokes their shafts increasingly fast, his body now a mere receptacle of need. Flint moves his lips to kiss the side of Billy’s neck, breathing noisily through his nose, and runs his hands along Billy’s arms. He is shivering, his hands are rough, and he nips Billy’s skin, trying to stifle moans.

“You know we can be loud,” Billy slurs into Flint’s ear. As if to prove it, he flicks his fingers over the leaking heads of their cocks, squeezing tighter, sounds of wet flesh and their desperate panting filling the air, and his moan is long and erratic when he spills himself over them both. Flint flings Billy’s hand away and strokes him through the release, bringing his lips close to Billy’s as though he wants to catch his every breath, every sound. Overwhelmed by passion, Billy pushes into the Captain’s hand, clutching at his shoulders and in the end letting Flint’s mouth suck a soft whimper out of him.

Flint straightens on his knees and moves closer, his thick glistening cock bobbing in front of Billy’s face, and Billy rises on his elbows, somewhat groggy but so ready to take him, to taste him. His eyes travel up Flint’s body, meeting his desperate gaze, but then return to his cock when the Captain begins to stroke himself. Billy licks his lips and swallows, feeling cheated and rewarded at the same time. When Flint brushes his thumb over Billy’s lips and prompts him to open his mouth, Billy reaches up to suck on his thumb, in the absence of a more satisfying alternative; their eyes meet, and Flint pumps his fist fervently, impatiently. He grips Billy by the back of his neck and points his throbbing cock at his mouth when he comes, spilling over his lips, his tongue, his cheeks. Billy gulps again and again, the Captain’s throaty moans and his musky taste making him lightheaded.

“God, Billy,” Flint shouts out the first word and whispers the second as Billy swirls his tongue over the head of his cock, hungrily collecting the last drops, and throws his head back with a look of accomplishment on his face.

Flint struggles to his feet, looking wobbly, but holds out his hand to help Billy up.

“You wouldn’t mind taking a swim, would you?” he says with unforgivably gentle smirk, to which Billy can only respond one way.

“Fuck you,” he grins as he staggers up, ignoring Flint’s gesture.

The water has gotten colder – or so it seems to Billy when they walk in; they are warm, and the chilly air makes their skin crawl with goosebumps. Billy washes the seed and sand off his face. He feels reckless, but also omnipotent, like it’s in his power – no, in _their_ power to do whatever they please, with impunity. He glances at Flint playfully, making sure he’s looking away, then lunges at him and pushes him into the cool water.

“What the fuck?” Flint bellows once he’s on his feet again, water streaming down his head, his body.

“Really?” Billy chuckles. “After what you’ve just done to me?”

Flint wipes his face with his hands and looks Billy up and down.

“Fair enough,” he grins.

Billy leers at him over his shoulder, then takes a deep breath and dives into the murky water. He opens his eyes, even though it’s dark, even though the salt stings. Somehow he likes it. Somehow, he feels free. When he emerges, Flint is watching him with a weird mixture of affection and… despair?

“What would your future Captain say,” Flint drawls as he slides smoothly into the water, “if he saw all this?”

“There is no future Captain,” Billy blurts out.

Flint freezes and gapes at him questioningly. There is a streak of hope in his voice when he asks, “What are you saying?”

“I’m staying,” Billy shrugs, struggling to keep his composure.

A rare smile – cheerful, with no hint of smugness – lightens Flint’s face. He steps closer but Billy motions him to stop with his index finger.

“ _only if_ ,” Billy continues, “we discuss every move together. If you swear to me no more innocent men in the crew are going to die for nothing. If…”

“If I treat you like an equal,” Flint interrupts him, the smile not leaving his face.

“Yeah,” Billy forces more command into his voice.

Flint nods slightly, his expression both amused and thoughtful. Then he turns around and heads back to the shore.

“Come on. I need to show you something,” he waves his hand, signaling Billy to follow him.

 

***

 

“What is it?”

Billy is leaning over a large piece of parchment that Flint has laid out on the table before him. He studies the parchment almost in amazement. There are notes and scribbles on the edges, and in the middle there is a drawing of an island with a few spots marked on it. Billy’s attention is immediately drawn to the thick **X**.

“What do you think it is?” Flint replies, leaning his elbow heavily on Billy’s shoulder.

“This is where you buried it?” Billy stares at him, and Flint affirmatively smiles with his eyes. “No one knows about it, do they?”

“There are people who know where the treasure is. But I don’t trust either of them and I don’t know if I'll ever set foot there again, so I want you to keep this.”

Billy brushes Flint’s hand away from his shoulder with a barely concealed satisfied smile.

“We need to take it away from here, but I won’t keep it,” he shakes his head. “I’ll make sure we dig up the chest together. Agreed?”

Flint smirks at him affectionately, and Billy’s heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Agreed,” the Captains replies. “But let me give you something anyway,” he says as he strolls toward a chest of drawers by the bed. “Don’t worry, it’s already yours.”

Billy knits his eyebrows. Flint fumbles through the clothes and throws him a shirt. Billy recognizes it at once.

“I couldn’t find it when I came back,” he says as he hastily puts the shirt on. “You kept it?” he turns and looks at Flint with the sudden realization.

“Yeah,” Flint shrugs. He bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide his amusement as he watches Billy try to pull the shirt down over his muscled torso. It’s too tight, the fabric strains against the rippling muscles of his arms and chest, and Flint bursts out laughing.

“Shut up,” Billy shouts at him, but the frown on his face turns into a soft smile as he watches Flint laugh. Then they both go quiet and gaze into each other’s eyes.

“You’re so different from the boy you used to be,” Flint finally breaks the silence.

“That’s because I’m not a boy anymore,” Billy replies sharply. He peels the shirt off and throws it to the side. His eyes fixed on his own reflection, he squares his shoulders and slightly flexes his muscles.

“No,” Flint slowly creeps toward Billy, his eyes traveling over the bosun’s form. “You’re a man.” He stands right behind Billy and places his hands on his biceps, squeezing them lightly. Their eyes meet in the mirror. “So don’t expect me to be merciful to you,” Flint whispers huskily into Billy’s ear as he reaches down to undo his pants.

A powerful shudder quakes through Billy’s body, and he compulsively presses back into Flint, holding his gaze in the mirror. Flint pulls his cock out and strokes it urgently, covering his neck with rough, nearly bruising kisses. Billy can only buck into Flint’s touch, breathless under his impudent stare. Flint drags Billy’s pants down his hips, letting them fall to the floor, and Billy kicks them aside. He can feel Flint’s erection against his bare bottom, and it sets his mind on fire. He turns around, pulls Flint’s shirt over his head with a growl and assaults his mouth. Flint responds with a deep moan and begins to guide Billy toward the bed, taking the lead.

Billy thinks that this is the moment – if Flint has been dragging him toward a deep abyss, then right now they have reached the edge. But it’s not the dark abyss from his dream, not really; more like the volcano of all his bottled-up desires. Billy roughly breaks the kiss; he bites his lower lip as he turns away from Flint, who watches him with curiosity and anticipation. Billy kneels on the bed, spreading his legs wide apart, and leans toward the headboard, grabbing it with both hands. He is through hiding.

When he leers at Flint over the shoulder, the man looks at him with the eyes of a carnivore that escaped from its cage but is still trying to suppress its blood thirst. He settles behind Billy; he slowly runs his palms up and down his back, then leans forward to make a trail of kisses down his spine, each kiss making Billy’s breath quicken. Billy can barely endure the torture of the Captain’s body sliding down his own so slowly. He whines impatiently, and Flint’s reaction is unexpected: he presses hard on Billy’s shoulders, forcing him to bend down, pushes his thighs wider, leans down and licks. Billy makes a sound of surprise, something between a laugh and a gasp, his hands clutching the headboard. Suddenly, he can’t remember who he is; he can’t remember anything.

Flint swipes his tongue deep, and Billy can’t hold back a loud moan of “yeah”, dropping his head down. Flint responds with a pleased hum that reverberates through Billy’s skin, making his entire body shudder and fill with sheer want. Billy begins to rock back toward him, not just giving in to pleasure but demanding more of it. Flint swirls his tongue more feverishly, panting into him, and raises his hands to stroke and squeeze Billy’s buttocks. When Flint gives him a light smack, Billy gasps for air.

“Harder,” he begs, his voice unnaturally husky. He barely recognizes it as his own. He barely believes he is saying this.

Flint slaps him more forcefully, but it’s still not what he needs.

“I said harder, dammit!” Billy almost snarls at him.

Flint drags his mouth away from him and smacks him hard, the sound deliciously obscene to Billy’s ears. Flint groans in effort, Billy groans in satisfaction. He wants more of it, but before he says it out loud, Flint turns him around and pushes him onto his back. Their gazes meet, full of irrepressible lust.

“Shit, Billy,” growls Flint as he leans down to nip at Billy’s neck, hard enough to hurt. Billy hisses through his teeth, smiling: Flint is actually leaving his mark on him. Flint covers his chest with kisses – hasty but hungry. He sucks at his nipple, and Billy bites on another moan, bringing his hand up to the back of Flint’s head. He is drowning in this maddening pleasure, his swollen cock is throbbing almost painfully, and now he is both eager and afraid to find out what will happen to him when Flint takes it further.

As if in response to his thoughts, Flint drags his mouth away, wets his fingers and unceremoniously shoves one into him.

“Fuck!” Billy shouts out loud, digging his fingernails into the skin on the back of Flint’s neck.

“That’s it,” Flint huffs between Billy’s lips and slides his tongue inside. He pushes another finger into him, making Billy groan and not allowing him to break away from his mouth. Billy squirms under Flint at first, but the heat from his fingers becomes astonishingly pleasant, so he melts in it; his hands begin to roam over Flint’s muscled back as he sticks out his tongue, letting the Captain suck on it, and opens his legs wider, allowing his fingers to delve deeper into him.

Flint pulls away from him and kisses his way down Billy’s body to his cock. He swallows him down, his hand still restlessly working him, and Billy knocks his head back against the headboard – so hard that it hurts, but he doesn’t care. Flint keeps sucking him, his lips descending down Billy’s shaft again and again, his fingers making him numb with pleasure, and Billy is on the verge of coming when he reluctantly forces Flint to pull away.

“Stop,” he shouts, his voice so hoarse that it sounds like a snarl. He lightly pushes on Flint’s shoulders, and the Captain slowly slips Billy’s cock out of his mouth, carefully eases his fingers out of him and straightens up. There’s a pleased smile on his lips when he looks at Billy, sprawled under him, trying to catch his breath, cheeks flushed, his whole body glistening with sweat. Billy thinks he must look like a cheap whore, but what does it matter now that he knows: they both can do whatever they want.

The thought prompts him to rise to his knees and take his initial position: he turns around and presses his back to Flint’s chest.

‘Fuck me,” Billy breathes out almost inaudibly.

Flint chuckles fiendishly into his neck, sliding his hands around Billy’s waist.

“I’m afraid you have to ask me properly, Mister Bones,” Flint murmurs huskily against his skin.

Billy lets out an exasperated laugh, and it almost hurts, because Flint’s playful insolence hasn’t exactly helped to relieve the pressure off his cock. So he capitulates yet again: he leans his head back against Flint’s shoulder, his voice silky when he says, “Please fuck me…” he draws in a shaky breath before adding, _“…Captain.”_

Flint doesn’t say a word in response – instead he pushes Billy forward and plunges his cock into him, gripping his hips, pulling him closer. Billy produces a sound of pain – or gratification, he isn’t sure himself. Flint loops his arm around his chest and begins to slam into him, his breathing hot at Billy’s ear; he whispers incomprehensible words, mingled with curses and soft moans, and Billy whimpers and gasps in appreciation, incapable of a more meaningful reaction. Flint rams his cock into him fast, both his arms now wrapped tight across his chest – mercilessly indeed, but there’s so much passion and affection in his body language, that Billy’s head fills with rapture and gratitude.

“Fuck yes,” he moans over and over, and Flint grunts, reaching down to tug on Billy’s shaft. Billy climaxes so hard that no sound comes out of his mouth as he opens it, dazed by the sensation that devours him. Flint keeps moving violently inside him as his hand squeezes the last drops of seed out of Billy’s cock. Billy lets go of the headboard and presses his head into the sheets; he arches back against Flint, and he growls in triumph, almost in unison with the Captain, feeling his hot sperm shoot deep inside him.

Flint pulls out his cock and flops onto the sheets; he grabs Billy by the shoulder, turning him around and drawing him closer – so that Billy can rest his head on his shoulder. Billy relaxes into his embrace as Flint wraps his arms around his body – tenderly this time. They are both panting, Billy can feel Flint’s chest rise and fall under his shoulders. He brings his hand up to the side of Flint’s face and reaches for his lips; Flint seems surprised by the gesture, but when he responds, the kiss feels like a revelation – deep and wet as much as slow and gentle, it somehow sums up everything that happened between them recently, and they both shudder when they break off at last.

 

***

 

“What do we do now?” Billy says as he looks out of the window at the coal-black sky, spangled with stars. After they’ve drunk a gallon of water, he seems to have regained his ability to make coherent sounds.

“Now we wait for Ben,” Flint breathes out after another gulp from a tankard. Billy sees that mischievous fire in his eyes again as the Captain stares him up and down. They’re both still naked, after all.

“You said you don’t trust those who know where the chest is buried,” Billy continues, ignoring him playfully. “What are you gonna do about Teach’s crew then?”

“I also said I’d kill anyone who tries to take you away from me. Well, Teach and his crew did. Some of them won’t survive the war, but those who will… Neither of them will ever stand in my way again. Let alone have a share of the gold _we_ fought for.

Billy wordlessly gapes at him before pushing Flint furiously against the wall.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You can’t kill your partners!” he shouts.

“They are my partners as long as we’re fighting against Rogers,” Flint hisses at him. “Once that’s over, they are my rivals. They’re all waiting for the right moment to take over the treasure. They’d slit our throats for it, and you know it. And if I suspect that anyone on our crew intends to help them get to the gold, they’ll suffer the same fate.”

Billy can’t believe his ears. “What about your promise, huh?” he scowls at Flint. “That none of our brothers will die? That no innocent men will die?”

“There are no innocent men, Billy!” Flint snaps, “All pirates deserve to burn. But better them than us. Don’t pretend you feel differently.”

Billy bangs his fist against the wall, barely an inch from Flint’s head. His dark eyes burn with fury.

“I fucking hate you,” Billy hisses at him, leaning in close, his breath hot on Flint’s face. His tone contradicts the words, so obviously that he inwardly curses himself for it. For everything. Flint smiles viciously before yanking his head down and kissing him violently, possessively. Against his intentions, Billy responds instantly and with equal intensity; he brings his teeth into play this time, making another desperate attempt to substantiate what he said. He bites Flint’s lower lip hard, drawing blood, and the taste is just like in his dream.

“Good,” Flint pants; a drop of blood trickles down his beard. “Don’t suppress your passions, Billy. You helped me get rid of my fears, and in return I’ll teach you not to hesitate when it comes to your enemies.” He cups Billy’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “We’ll be invincible now.”

“You’re mad,” Billy whispers against his mouth, unable to pull away.

“Then you can either cure my madness,” Flint murmurs, sliding his hand down Billy’s body, “or join me in it,” his voice breaks as he grips Billy’s stiffening cock, making him grunt through his teeth.

Flint kisses his bearded cheekbones, and Billy feels wobbly again, but then he senses something strange.

“Do you hear that?” he asks Flint cautiously, shifting away from him.

Flint freezes; they both hear distant, barely audible sounds.

“The water,” Flint barks. He begins to pick his clothes up off the floor and hastily put them on. Billy follows his example.

They grab their weapons, run out of the house and peer into the dark ocean. The feeble starlight reveals a vessel in the distance.

“It’s not Ben’s,” Billy says warily, squinting into the darkness.

“No, it’s bigger.” Flint’s voice is hard; he draws his pistol. “That can’t be our men’s. They wouldn’t have come at night.”

They look at each other simultaneously; there’s equal amount of resolve and twisted exhilaration in their eyes. Billy grins at Flint, draws his cutlass and swings it in the air, warming up his wrists. His other hand reaches for the pistol tucked into his belt.

“Once they’re on shore,” Flint bores his gaze into Billy, “if we don’t know them, if we suspect they’re dangerous in any way…”

“Better them than us,” Billy says coldly as he meets Flint eyes, and cocks the hammer.

~~~


End file.
